Cuban Heels and the White Balloon

there was a large pale sun
in a greenish sky
where i in a deck chair,
on an Atlantic beach,
wrapped your breasts around my apple
which was about to be eaten in
one big red bite.
the nearby coffee-colored sand,
upon which sat the
handsome buttocks of a lady
with a flower fully in her mouth,
felt warm and wet between my fingers.
then a steady breeze returned,
and she put on black tights and a pair
of Cuban heels as the white balloon
rose into our night sky.
i began making
preparations for bed, which was radiating heat.
there, she became a small reclining nude
cradling her head in her hands,
a soft green leaf
resting on her right thigh.
imagining myself the gardener, i entered to water her plants.
it was late summer before we awoke to watch
our reflections sleeping in a mirror.