|"Hello, Sailor," I saw you pulling into the Fingerlakes, gliding into port, awash in the bay of Lingerhands. I will swim into you when the boat docks. Answering the phone, hearing your first few sentences as if I were underwater. I'd been swimming in my brain. The receptors marked Jimmy were banked, little fires floating in water. Like candles floating in oil only magnified. You occupy a swath of receptors about the size of Hawaii. And just as exotic. My pineapple, my pinã colada, my hula love. In the fingerlakes, lapping bliss like opium, I was making angels in water as you did in sand. Floating in the sea washed over by salt, blood, hormones, linghams, peptides. Do we share a brain that periodically surfaces like a volcanic island? I entered a place where you could find me. After hearing your voice, I danced with you all weeke!
Sailor, I woke up seeing your hand extended, "Welcome aboard." Over and over, I leapt across that gap between land and boat. The moving blues.|