jason wymore

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In America's Finest City

This Quiet Pool in “America’s Finest City”
Just opened its belly to welcome strangers:
Independent travelers who rented one another
Baptized in chlorine swimming in street lights.

The ocean down the street
Could almost hear the neighborhood,
EL Tio Chino’s Restaurante band singing old guitar songs
While he, the male, listened to her skin
Playing her fingers with his spine.
Her clothes danced the marimba while she
almost remembered losing the virginity.
She had never wanted.
She wanted this man, whose tongue was a map of water,
To know this was not love beneath their
‘No Diving Sign’.

They climbed across each other’s toes
Using his belt as a rope
Sinking their gravity somewhere
Near the hotel’s kidney who happened to be closed
To splashing after eleven P.M.
His mouth had opened the gate anyway.

They are drinking their company vacation.
His lips lime
Her neck salt and tequila
The pool blends them in secret
While they drown their reflections

Their thighs spark lightening
the deep end’s only light

Their hands rewrite history
In short, quick, thrusts.

Their eyes see the lovers
They each had in the last city.

There is no requirement to truth
When they are done dressing each other
And dry and what they left behind evaporates.
In the morning, Ava the maid,
Won’t know why the tables and chairs giggle.
Pools keep secrets better than politici

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