It’s a heat wave and the radio warns us of the extreme temperatures burning through sunglasses and riding the wind. Humidity. Droplets of sweat forming above lips and between breasts. The sheen of summer on the small of her back as she flips over and groans.
All of it inescapable.
We tell time in discarded Diet Coke cans and the laps from towel to lake and back again. Our skin browns in unison.
A nod and we are padding through the sand again.
The water cold, sprouting goose bumps along the wave line against my shins, knees, thighs.
“On three? One, two—”
I am submerged before she finishes the count.
This is how it always is: the cold kiss of water on every pore, my long hair trailing behind me like seaweed, bubbles escaping from my lips in short bursts.
The dive like falling in love and
wanting to come up.
Aeroplane vs Friendly Fires vs Flight Facilities – I Crave Paris
(via Chris @ dailybeatz)