a little break

January tells us to dream
of dark beaches and cool water romance.
The kind of love that only happens in the movies, but somehow you believe
that summer will be more bearable than this, and your heart will open like a bird
lifting from the jetty.
You imagine the cool breeze and the warm sand and the sweet mojito buzz
but you forget how your sundress
got stuck to your back last year.
Tell-tale lines of sweat under your boobs and straight between your buttocks.
Did you also forget how quickly you burn? And how Jose, the bronzed barman with such elegant fingers, slapped your sharply red shoulders to a flame. It was funny, wasn't it?
Or that day you wasted after eating too much crab and drinking too much vodka.
You still have the photos of the saucepan you were sick into. Social media doesn't care if you're unable to consent.
And not just pictures. You remember.
That sunset, that walk by the water watching the local children dive down deep into the dark.
The beach was dark. And you did say yes but that was way back when you had just finished your third beer. He thought it was sexy that you drank straight from the bottle, like a man.
So he took you like a man.
And you liked it. Didn't you?
January tells us to dream of dark beaches and cool water romance. It says this time it will be different.
So you sleep. And you dream. And try to forget that last last summer forced itself on you and you still haven't managed to wash all that sand out.