The Caribbean water is lapping the bronze skin bikinied Argentinian standing knee deep in its warm pressing waves. He smokes a cigar shouting true love and mischief through the glistening grey and black hairs spreading from a wide open grinning mouth. His sunglasses reflect the eyes and sun blonde strands of hair drifting just as Botticelli’s Venus. Well, then the story drifts a bit to the children cartwheeling on the sand then to ships on the horizon then back to the blonde who must have tasted this salt water many times because her words cast over the Argentinian and his deep tan. He is smiling at the way she moves her hand through the water wading in deeper, cupping a little to wash over her hair. He is caught with the telling skin of a man in love with the way she is in water and the words that play from her mouth as she remembers every time at the beach, aging in the sun.
Shoulder deep, another figure makes out salt mist ships in the distance bleeding the ship’s form into the nitrogen unapologetic for his love of the color of nitrogen and the frequent number of occasions he has asked others within earshot, “Would you look at that blue sky?” Water recedes then the ships disappear briefly while a swell pushes him through the water. Tumbled over, he surfaces to inhale the fragrance of salt. He finds a footing and makes out again, the ships at Cozumel, saying to a nearby wader, “Would you look at that blue sky?”
Cartwheelers in the swash are in their best Sunday beachwear and their mother sitting on the beach mound lets her feet dip into the rush of water, cheering the little girls’ feats and amusements. It is as if happiness had entangled the coast and the Argentinian shouted it so to his love.