They're lazy indoors
on the chilled summer sheets
of her
lily pad place
He clicks, clatter, slips
channels with slick palm, she's
painting toes cool aquamarine
cigarette butts divide them
her feet erect, heels dug
browned darker when against
starched white
his glasses slide again, ankles cross, uncross
in this cramped nook island away from the heat
click clatter slip
rolls on his back
their perpendicular limbs
his spare glance caught her thigh
where a kiss trembled, following eyes
the bottle turns over
he rolls her over
fingers on nape neck, tracing eyes
the only proof
are smeared turquoise streaks
on pale, cold sheets