Into The Blue

I can still smell the Piz Buin on my skin.

Lying under the blue you can be anywhere. Somewhere where the hours disappear into the worlds of endless novels. Somewhere where the sea hushes every worry and sends them up as prayers to the warm belly of the sun. Somewhere where the women draped in sarongs and sand rise at the end of long, lazy afternoons into the kisses of their lovers. Somewhere where ice-cream drips like laughter down my chin. Somewhere where the cicada-filled dusk caresses sunburned shoulders and knees. Somewhere with the promise of a night full of seafood, rich red wine and sticky, fragrant sex.

Today, lying in a London park, I fell deep into this blue. And this cloud, like the spine of a swimmer, carried me away.