Four-Day Weekend

through that thin nylon swimsuit
soaked in crystal lake waters
i can see your nipples protruding out,
cut-throat enough for diamonds
and calling my hands over to them:

this water chills us, they say, and she
and we both know how your hands
radiate heat: you are a perpetual motion machine
of warmness, deferring all laws of thermodynamics
to the textbooks—you are an enigma:
baffling her and us like Stonehenge
that stands tall and proud like we do now.

slick and unwasted i want to see them
cup them and mostofall kiss them
and feel the sharpness cut my tongue:
each little drop of blood diluted
by these crystal-blue brisk waters.

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