That Summer by the Sea

It's summertime and the white tips of sailboats are visible from where we sit on the balcony. The sea-smell lingers just beneath my nostrils and there's you, tall and lean like cypress trees, stretching your limbs. I squint in the shining white of the hot summer sun. Your hand leaps across the table and lands on mine, it feels cold and clean. A rich breeze blows, fattening the curtains so that their middles stick out like the bellies of the great old men I see on the streets, supported by their canes and their thin, wispy wives. The curtains are puffing up their cheeks with the wind and I feel dizzy.