The Lake House, pt. 1

One oar dips in, then the other.
long pull, move forward.
Day one of seven-day getaway.

Earlier, sunlight at rakish angle, your dazzling, your shimmer, reflecting in the mirror where we both stand, hair messy and bare abdomen. Then, we prepare – a flurry of activity, as adventure cuts through the glassy stillness of morning. The wild world awaits.

Now, we peer precariously into another mirror, almost tipping.
Here, a rare occurence; there, a special treat for the eyes.
“Even when you’re looking down, you’re looking up!,” symptomatic of this lake of glass.
Find yourself staring at a mighty chasm of upended sky; flock of birds race underneath canoe.

Later, as we siesta on the grassy knoll, biceps aching from our expedition, I will glimpse the group of freckles that whisper together on your shoulder. I will daydream of two things: earlier, when you enveloped me with fragrant skin, and later, the six more nights that I will share your bed.

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