We’re lying in the hammocks,
The night air is thin but warm.
My drink pours all over my leg, leaving a sticky trail of sour juice.
We’re laughing until we’re not.
Drunken laughter grips my brain,
Possessing my entire body.
O glances over her drink, her body rocking the hammock.
The lights fill the underside of the palm tree’s fanning leaves as the sand.
The drink starts to taste like lust, concentrated desire,
Not necessarily for O,
Maybe for the bartender,
Maybe for anyone,
But still, a tenacious thirst for more than the drink in my hands.
Though the bartender continues to shake drinks back and forth,
And O continues to rock the hammock.
In the secret landscape of my infinite thoughts,
I am ravenous for passion,
To be whole in another person,
If even to be enveloped in wholeness,
To distract from my own lack thereof.
Literary Musings 