Did I know my temples ached this badly? Or my calves or the outside edges of the soles of my feet? I'm half awake under strong small hands - our place spotless in a scurried instant then quiet behind the stone wall packed with green insulating from the busy narrow streets full of scooters and Aussies.
I fight off jet lag with naps and caffeine, strong iced coffee gritty from the finest grind, sweet from dark cane syrup. I'm tempted to drink the sludge, to stay awake past 9 pm today while my brain and body fight over the bright hot light and the witching hour of my internal clock. I try not to check the time at home. I look. My eyelids fall heavy. On vacation you nap. But dinner falls somewhere around three am in my dislocated state.
I've given up on clothes, on time on movement. I write on a carved teak day bed on silk pillows, Matisse, colonial, exoticized. I lap up serenity, so easy on an airy room I didn't have to clean myself. My mind rests on home, still in yesterday and back to silk pillows and new sandals bought from lovely ladies for special morning price - good luck to be first customer.
Even washed, skin still fragranced from oil from flowers - light skinned pretend princess. O sloth and decadence, the richness of taking. If I fluff my own pillow, it's enough for today.
