Nude at Noon

The waves too feeble for a surf,
We half consider going home,
Filling the gulls with cries of mirth
Hovering above the foam

Rolling slowly down the beach.
You hold your hand up for some shade,
Watching someone eat a peach,
As if he held an ass made

In Heaven: juicy, ripe and sweet.
“I wish we brought some fruit,” you say,
“And an umbrella.” I repeat,
“Some fruit.” I pitch a peach your way.

You catch it as a mermaid catches
A naked swimmer: with a kiss,
Pearl necklaces and emerald flashes,
Mingling her salty mouth with his.