In Tulum, we found that the sun
wasn’t our only heat of the moment.
Remember when I bike-pedaled to find you,
The Boy With The Orange Suitcase,
with my heartbeat compass.
I mistook your fear for sweat,
pressing my lips to your ocean cheeks
as bathing beauties in your tides.

Outside, in the late afternoon,
we showered to wash the ocean at our feet
—I scaled the concrete with my fingertips
while you clasped my ribcage.
We left the sky to blush with its peeking,
palms wild with applause.

At 4:30, just before the sun
began to melt into the ocean,
the waves would crest the softest blue,
pure and almost white,
and that was where I finally found you.

About Ry

It's so magical, it's gay.
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