You Always Said You Could Swim Like a Fish
John C. Mannone
You, in that black cocktail dress,
red heels stiletto-ing floor. Legs,
sinuous in the ballroom. We embrace,
my hands on the arch of your back.
Outside, salt water sings. Beckons.
Caribbean air mists its magic over us.
Let us have a drink
of that ocean, I said.
My eyes follow the curve of your hips
all the way down below the waves
of silk frilling your dress, your legs
twisting into one sensuous form.
Sequins on your tight gown glitter
as pearly scales, your long brown tresses
scent the cool breeze with hyacinth.
The ocean whispers.
You, the siren of my dreams
I wrap myself around, let us sink
into the inky depths with just one flick
of our hearts.
Let us dissolve in a swirl of sea
foam tinted with rose-red shimmers
stolen from the moon. Let us disappear
with one last breath of air.