I remember when I first kissed your scar.

I remember when I first kissed your scar.

Your leg is something that is there. It is like a piece of clothing, visible on the outside to me. I remember the first time we had sex. You showed me your scar, a layering of skin. Of operations. Of holes . Beauty is often found. You found me. I was broken and alone.

I believe you thought I would run. Take one look and head for hills. Like a revolting rhyme. Did you not see my immense desire? I looked then forgot as it was you that I wanted. Not a leg. Not a scar. Not a Virginia.

I stand over the swimming pool. The water is honest. It holds no tricks. Like the summer before, we have floating fruit and floating animals. Two pineapples. One shark. One unicorn. I only wanted a slice of pizza.

The pineapples move together as if related. They remind me of a Dole pineapple. A pineapple with a brand name, but still a pineapple that looks like a pineapple.

They look sweet. Plastic like a Jeff Koons sculpture with a hole in the centre. Can I fit inside that hole? You lie on the sun-lounger, legs spread like a broken triangle.

I remember when I first kissed your scar.