Acrobats on the Beach

You put the soles of your feet on my solar plexus.

We link fingers and as you straighten, I rise, balanced on the trunk of your legs -

I fly…

To complete the move, I work with you, supine — until your toes inch underneath my shoulders and I dip slip through and round until my hair brushes your belly and my legs shoot up towards the sky.

We are one in physical trust as we build sculptural forms on the sand.

You collapse suddenly — and we are two, rolling unharmed on the powdered glass trying to laugh and breathe at the same time.

Paul laughs with us — then takes his turn on your new armature, demonstrating the next move in our strength class.

So, again, we touch, undulate, smell skin sweat and flex ourselves and each other.

A triumphant triumvirate .

To an observer, an intimate whole, finely tuned.

For me though, a gaping hole — a wound…

The hour is up — we split:

You to your wife, Paul to his next client —

Me to dream about next week…