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You've sun on your face and shoulders, as you lean
back, perfect head tilted five degrees, and you
are staring at me, brow raised, eyes askance,
slightly blurred but shining, mouth held as if
about to ... speak?
Navy blue background, woodwork vaguely Thai,
a squared gray stone column in the corner
reminiscent of early '60's magazine
ads for high fidelity stereos
(in glossies like Look and Life and Modern Living)
and I gawk until you rise and float.
Eyes cross and water; my head
pained, blood shuttles, beats, aches.
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