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  • This Mediterranean dream is drifting...

    and as I walk slowly, I wonder if you feel me. I wonder.

    The sweet lull after crazy time.

    And I take time, yes, time to study the air, the sky, the sea, that deep blue...

    that mysterious Mediterranean blue.

    I close my eyes to feel, more distinctly, the sun on my skin.

    Delight. You delight me with your sunburn glance.

    All the writers' paragraphs don't do it justice, do they?

    We move in slow motion.

    Remember walking past the cork tree, its bark old and gnarled.

    It smelled so good, so sweet...

    Squinting across the Straits to see mysterious Ceuta moving like a snake

    above the water, the coast of mystery. To a twenty-one year old,

    all that Africa beckoned and frightened at the same time.

    Exactly the same time.

    A heavy, undulating, dusty wind blew our way, across azure water.

    Beckoning us toward mystery. Oh!

    I could smell a faint burning. the cork freshly peeled from the bark,

    Kids burning it with stolen matches.

    Stand close to me, child, as if I am a brave bull,

    and taste a tepid Valencia orange, picked from a low branch

    of our tree.

    Uniformed Guardia Civil walked slowly in pairs, trolling the beaches

    glancing sideways across the Straits of Gibraltar.

    Today's catch? Beware. Inside my small pocket, my papers folded carefully

    just in case.

    Shorts licked brown legs and a hint of creamy skin

    above the gentle curve.

    My back, bare under wispy white.

    Copper toes and shoulders

    Dancing...

    ...a trance in the sweet Mediterranean sun.

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