Brindisi boat

oily air tasted hard against the bitter olive
tenanted in the memory of black sand
the
two colours skin deep
pits the same
the
black sand more glass like
than yellow dug in my shoe

that air. warmed by fusion afar
and combustion near
conflicts in visible mind maps.
flecks of the crap diesel hung
on the heat to be trapped in 
nostrils greased by claw
of heavy oil vapours

Cretaceous old smacks into such new
and ancient being:
-octopus speared yards from digital watch 
timing for the hell of it
-to tavern and first olives with first
Calamari so fresh LEDs had not 
filled nines

so many firsts, fresh, falls and, conflicts 

the deck a poor bed. the boat a veteran.
polyester a bolster. we were young.

the air, an attack on my swallows 
of Santorini.
only freckled our sunny skin