The sun is hot as a despicable orange. The bodies are half naked. Souls are
afraid of the closeness of
the bodies. The music thunders and mutes the conscience. Babies cry and ask to
bring them back. The sun shines angrily and does not want to forgive.
The sun is hot as angry despicable orange and does not want to forgive. The shells on the sand get stuck in the feet. Bodies bleed because of the intimacy. Souls are far from each other. The sun bakes to death and heats the starry dust in our bodies. The sand sticks to our hearts. Babies cry and refuse to accept the pain as part of life.
You are the lonely man who seeks his beloved. In every next body you see your ideal. Nudity is like an invitation for the last dance that puts your senses to sleep and makes you vulnerable. Every ideal of yours falls apart like sand in the salt water. But you do not give up. You want to hide from the loneliness in the nakedness of the next body. You seek to hide in the illusion of the moment, in the uncertainty of the beauty that will dissolve in the seawater.
I am like a seagull that does not want to land on the sharp rocks because it will lose its freedom. I am like a seagull that is at a meeting with the sun. I am not your ideal. Because I am not a beautiful naked body.
Your new body ideal has red lipstick that leaves a mark on your neck, but not in your heart. Your new ideal is tempting as a despicable fig that prompts you to taste it quickly because its time is counted. You are surrounded by naked ideals, but this is no longer a tempting challenge because you get used to the beauty so quickly. The beauty keeps you entertained, but it does not lift you. The beauty of the naked bodies makes you feel tired and so lonely.
The lifeguard on the beach is trying to save the bodies that break up like sand in the seawater. But the savior of the beach cannot save our souls. He only sees our bodies. Just like you who stay without ideal after each victory. But you are not a hero, because these are easy victories.
I have spread wings ready for the meeting with the sun. I do not have a red nail polish. Neither my lips are colored with a seductive red lipstick. My freedom has neither color nor form.
The sand is covered with shells and sin. The music thunders. The bodies move like intoxicated in the rhythm. The bodies touch and then break down like sand in the seawater. The temptation is what kills their integrity. Because they do not need their power, but easy victories and forgetfulness. The salty water washes away the sin and gives hope for a new beginning.