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It's about a beautiful day spent in a beautiful place with a beautiful woman.

Monte Estoril

Screen_shot_2017-12-05_at_08.50.24by Patrick Howse07 Sep 2013

The old stone breakwater
Proudly juts from Portugal
Almost to Brazil.

Alone, our legs dangle lazily
Kicking to remind us
That they still work.

Between our toes, deep green
Reflections and shadows play
With reflections of shadows;

Purple spectres chase
Mermaids, twisting and
Writhing through translucence

As smoke snakes and curls
From fire through air,
Bleeding hypnotically away.

Glancing out further,
Infinite shades of silver-blue
Grey to the horizon, to ships.

But at our feet,
At the end of Europe,
Light is not allowed to escape:

It soaks in;
It dissolves.