spa

Justine and Pierre

Today in between the wrap and the wrap party we each learned about our nudity thresholds and smoked some pot in the sauna. Well, outside of it. Fran said, pointing through the window at the two people reclined in the spa,  That’s Anna and her boyfriend, Pierre.
Quel surprise! I said, taking the joint and, Those are their names, too, indicating my bare left, right breast, Anna, and Pierre, and pressing them against the glass to greet their homonyms. Echanté.
All this after I’d read The Marriage Plot—which I found in preread hardcopy in a bar in Neukölln with free books and snatched up to have something else in English, even the same store I was already listening to on audio loop for comfort—aloud to Fran while she lounged and I got completely naked at last before a beautiful German moth that was studying me from the ceiling.

one swimsuit bottom

I left New York with two swimsuit tops
and one swimsuit bottom
but lost the bottom some weeks ago
in a sexy encounter
with an Italian dancer
in a German spa
and I realize now
finally
on this French beach
that what I bought in Brussels to replace it
when later I realized it was gone
is in fact a men’s swimsuit
so now I have a place to keep my penis.
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