Honeymooner's Dream

Honeymooner’s Dream

Robbie Furtwangler

 

Instead of cerulean water,

quartz white sand,

I see orange lights rotate

through ice-framed glass.

Bound to plastic airport chairs,

we wait to be told

where to sleep tonight.

 

The foreign gold ring

makes my whole left hand glow.

Her head rests on my chest.

I try to match her slow breathing.

I hold her tighter.

I smile and bow my head,

close my eyes.

 

When I exhale,

my body tingles.

I hear the wind rustle the palms

and the water lapping on the rocks.

The sun melts on my shoulders.

I lick the salt from my lips.

Author's Note

enough solid concrete imagery?