all day, in the water - my skin was that brown you loved so much, remember? it hinted at the other, secret skin which — this is what you always say, what you said. i remember.

i remember the men with their boats, first one then the other, clustered, how they shouted, how the shouts stopped when they pulled it up and out of the sea. it lit something in me to see it held so roughly in their hands, and i imagined them imagining they were gentle.

we watched from the shore, saying nothing. later i told you, remember? remember. that the difference between what is lost and what is a missing is intent. you told me i was too serious, and with your long tongue licked the inside of my forearm, sweet where the juice of that fruit i was eating had run in a thin trail, declaring it salty.