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Winter in the Tropics

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Palm trees rippled and twisted through squalling air–


a sunset blurred red sky and hazed white clouds



as a fat, old man's lit cigarette
tumbled from his wrinkled, well-tanned hand.


The tide receded under downy clouds
as the old man stamped the cigarette
while coughing as he breathed the briny air
and walked away, his mouth under his hand.

* * * * *

We laughed and interlaced our callused hands–
I picked you up, whirling you through the air.

We watched for stabbing shells and dead cigarettes

while treading in sparkling foam like frothy clouds.


I reached to touch your shoulder with my hand


and pull you towards me through the salt-stained air.

Our feet touched beside a cigarette,




half-lit and smoldering dark charcoal clouds.


The sun died slowly, sinking, like the cigarette–




glowing softly, lighting all the clouds




as I pressed your back against my hand.



We kissed, surrounded by brackish night air.





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