Daydreaming

On the beach, down by the water, water that's the color of a giant swimming pool, gentle, simple uncomplicated waves lapping at the sandy beach that's not so much sandy in color but almost pearly white, palm trees waving gracefully in the foreground, a rum drink of sorts in one hand, a real page turner in the other, something by the likes of James Patterson or Dan Brown, my sun drenched body stretched out in an old-navy bikini I bought on sale for $14.99, nestled under a cabana that's perhaps made of old palm fronds and a palm tree stump, my toes curled-up under a big plush red and white stripped towel from the towel hut, the fact that there is a towel hut where a cute boy works all day and lets me take extra towels if I need them until the sun goes down over the Atlantic creating that indescribable color, which can only be attributed to the sun God's sweetly kissing it before they retire to moon drop's mirror reflection, and as I walk back to my hotel room with a king-sized feather bed and a deluxe walk-in closet bigger than my entire kitchen in New York, with a bathroom and bathtub decadent enough for the queen, the steal drum by the pool plays Bob Marley's "Two Little Birds" and the waterfall roars and at that moment, that very moment: nothing, not one single thing seems wrong with this world.