Burnished

He was just her slice of pie:
marginally beautiful,
burnished in the ever-fading brightness of summertime.

When that broad mouth unbolted,
when his voice belayed across the heightened acoustics of greenish standing water,
her look cast down upon her pinkish wrinkled toes
that squirmed within themselves on the thickly textured dock.

And when these feet leapt and probed the glassy surface
face mirrored by the murkiness of lake sediment
she wondered if her perfect execution of a swan dive was enough
to flip drops of moisture his untrimmed head  
as it shook, sideways, like a labrador.
If one crest into the oxbow
would be the flicker that led him to hold her,  
the most pallid of prospects,
above girls who laid out in string bikinis
as they always had, since summers before their mothers were born.

But when she surfaced
that bronzed form, once held so highly on a pedestal
was wrapped around a similarly unbreasted form.
Too close for boy's play
too natural for any doubt to leave her mind
as to the direction his head, heart (and other parts)
would turn
despite the quality of her legs as they extended into cloudy waters.

This revelation complete
her bluish mouth
pursed tightly
searched for one whose love could be reciprocated.
And the girls laid out in the ever-precious sunshine
as they always had
since summers before their mothers were born.