I can feel its warmth on your face, sometimes violent and sometimes just hot. I feel that I dug my face, I dry the liquid, which I colors of gold, this sun of late August.
The situation here is very calm at the beach: you lie in the sun, sunscreen is rubbed into the skin persistently insisting with extended massage in an attempt to give body to the desires of strokes of other hands.
There is also bored, cigarettes are consumed at the speed of the wind and then somehow it gets distracted, trying to catch the eye more curious, he hesitates to take a body exposed to the sun, you try to steal share a gossip from beach umbrellas at hand anything to move a day that seems to vary only by the gusts of wind on sand dunes.
And in the background the sound of the sea, always the same but at the same time changing, and it seems that each wave is carrying a sound like a song of a thousand voices that seems to lull the time.
The air, however, is fraught with expectation, as if waiting for a signal that gives all the way to the dances, as if all this humanity sun hid a predatory instinct, a sensual energy storage that could overwhelm a stormy sea.
feel the grains of sand on the skin and my hand instinctively try to remove lingering but with too much discretion not to irritate: I see eyes looking the game of my fingers, eyes running down my legs and then quickly back up at my cross and stay in that moment more than necessary because the whole does not seem devoid of interest.
note that in this sea of \u200b\u200bnaked bodies and naked around me are the most erotic kisses.
Kisses touched, tender, data in the light of the sun seems to bring out their most sensual and emotional.
salty kisses, surrounded by hugs and rubbing, in mezzo al mare, come se l'acqua fosse una coperta che preserva l'intimità degli amanti.
Baci così rari, chissà perché, c'è quasi il timore di lasciarsi andare, di esprorre alla luce del sole le proprie passioni ed insieme ad esse qualche piccola debolezza, come se avessero il potere di renderci vulnerabili.
Ma i baci d'agosto hanno anche il sapore del gioco, della voglia di costruire qualcosa con l'altro anche se breve, un gioco che ti permette di recitare una storia, di inventarti una vita, di scoprire l'altro attraverso la pelle, di sentire le sue mani tra le tue, i corpi aggrovigliati, i giochi di sguardi.
Rovistando nei cassetti, between photos by Herb Ritts and the memory of a holiday in Gran Canaria.
