Stop & Look, Alicante

Why is there (under this sea) always

an other sea? Scrolling through miles

of leopard-print bikinis, I wonder, could I go

“all out”? Just imagine where my cleavage should peak,

would peek from under—do I go for side or classic?

Which stretch marks will I sun, running

like shoals of mica palmed by waves?

Will I add a shell

accent?

Some saddie on the web says,

a hungry moon snail made the mark,

says, moon snails release an acid

of the “victim.”  What if  I lost

these breasts altogether? I’m hunting.

Another saddie says, those holes were made

The leopard walks on water. Their claws

just prick the surface without going under.

You’re a heavy cat, and I wish I had you-

r muscle. Just imagine. I could love it.