slightly wet paperbacks, towels, long nights

slightly wet paperbacks, towels, long nights
salt, sweat and water... the occasional oily
fingerprint from the fish lunch we ate
under sun-sieged shades.

I am bored with living life like we have to measure
the carbs in every beer, lest we fall from grace.
Fuck grace then.
We'll have sex all afternoon to burn the calories.

I wish somebody had told me earlier on
that you could fall in love with life,
back when there was a margin.

Seems we never sealed that pact.
Never fully said "yes I do", thinking it
would always be there ( as in for ever )

deep sleep that finds you crushed the next morning.
Not caring. Leave your foresight pulse
at home, before travelling,
like we should always do.