Among those which were not real

It is irreverent to write about her life after deconstructing the social structure of Miami. That evening, she went to the bar and watched my Yankees and engaged in mutual seduction afterwards. Thus began the beginning of debauchery at the end of her time in Miami. The source of her tears as she sat on a plane as a woman who knew what she was leaving. Friends. Lovers. Heat. But with knowledge that she survived, grew, befriended, and finally loved. And her Cat. Fully in possession of herself as a woman. And she thanked Miami for that.

“Among those which were not real”

I miss the way my breasts and hips were worshiped.
The tropical breeze fluttering among lithe palms,
A sultry cadence of voices from the Americas
Mixed among African beats and writhing bodies.
The frenzied calm of Kendall, the Neon Lincoln Road, and Deco of Ocean Drive
Among the pristine key beaches and the salacious south beach.
The spicy rays of sunshine beam through an afternoon shower
While we sipped martinis
Relaxed in the still of the pool
Curled in the crevices of each other
Undressed
Unfurled
Uncovered
Unadulterated
I miss the way my breasts and hips were worshiped.