living amongst the noise

the guy in lot 5 likes to give women hickies
then paint their portraits in the sand.
he gives them texture,
because everyone in Venice must have worn grooves,
even potholes, in their character.

down the way the waitress who brings beer,
wears bells around her waist
and already knows our order
before stopping by to say hi.

we drink the sunset away before going
to bounce around the skate park
for a picture or three.

take a ride on the swings
up, down
ugh, too dizzy today.
the erdinger in my stomach
grins at me.

we kiss with our feet in the sand,
the water rushing up -
you preparing to run,
me preparing for the cold.

the rest of the night is soft
stereo noise
hummed against the moaning
and our already rickety bed so close to busting
takes another pounding
with me between him and it.