Consciousness of a Flat Planet

                She wants to float above him, beyond his reach. As he splits the water with his sleek form, the specter of his voice echoes around her. Washed by his waves, she lulls her head toward the stars. Obscured by a canopy of gray mist, the stars dance a heavenly folly. Foggy tendrils stretch down just above her head. She swats at the misty air, feels it snake through her fingers.

He bejewels the air as he surfaces and enshrouds her within his embrace. Her vision is only of him. And he begins to speak.

            She floats on an iconoclastic subconscious stream. She drowns

amid the jetsam and flotsam of the iconic

American scheme.

            And she cannot look at his face, feel his breath, watch his lips spin his thoughts, watch his brow furrow. She glances away. His listless towel drapes over the chair, twittering in the cool night air.

The night breeze cradles the faint scent cast by the frenetic ocean waves. She feels the spray, a lover’s sweet kiss of surrender, upon her shoulders. In the night: the echoing moan of a distant foghorn. She aches to see beyond this veil.

            Are you listening?

            She arches her arms over her head and slides from his embrace. The water covers her mouth, ears, eyes. She flutters her arms under the water. She is a mermaid, a butterfly, sargasum. She slides beneath his legs, and he plunges his arms after her. She sees his distorted image looming above her.

And she wants to float above him.

Author’s Note: Here is an attempt at merging prose poetry and flash fiction…. 

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