Catalina

A 36-year-old boy before me, curly hair flapping in the breeze, every inch of him free on that beach cruiser bike.

Boyfriend shaking his head as I shiver, three layers and 60 degrees for warmth.

Watching the swell of the ocean, remembering a recent viewing of Titanic. A birthday boy's arms wrapped around me, eyes closed, breathing in his comfort.

Dramamine blues against a grey sky, waiting out the drowsy malaise to enjoy the company of my love.

Upturned teacups of fog capping the island hills; candle snuffers on God's acolyte stick.

Golf carts our only competition in traffic; a relieved me, whose bum hasn't graced the seat of a cycle in a decade.

Cursing my lack of fitness, wanting to throw the bicycle down. "You're beautiful," says A, leaning my direction to apply a healing kiss.

Finding clouds lifted as we filter out to a balcony. Dandelion light in the harbor below. I long to swim in the water that I know is too cold.

Ice cream dripping down my hand, gumming the seams of the gear shift. Forgetting to be stressed as we race back to the boat.

A slow day but hardly bored, with this man whose humor triggers my laugh, whose hand fills mine, whose crannies of the heart match the nooks in mine.

Beers on the bow. Clinking our Hawaiian brews, remembering a shared vacation of yore. Dreaming of travel ahead.

Brilliant sunshine warming me through, the boat's powerful wake spitting a hundred feet behind, waving goodbye to our day for two.

Back to the city; hurried showers, tired frames. Spirits renewed as friends crowd the bar, hugs all around before collapsing into couches and conversation. The day carrying on into the night, celebrating my honey bee and his life, oh his precious life.