Dawn’s pewter hush—then gabbling geese, white lace on gun-metal.
Pearled necks crane like a Baptist choir, rustling hymnals of disapproval.
I smile, wade in, let the cold tongue lick each golden thigh—baptizing their gossip with a cheek flush.

“Here she comes again,” clacks one ole bitty, “buck-naked as sin on a Sunday.”
another, softer, “But Lordy—look at that crescent moon she calls an ass—
carved from hundreds of hours at the altar of laps and long trail runs.”

Turkeys line the shore, red wattles flicking like silk ties at a cocktail bash.
Let them smirk, let them covet; their fantasies are feathers I shake from my skin.
I roll to my back, offering the sky a marbled torso—free, wild and unmasked.

A redeye descends, its shadow skims my dark, round-eyed, glistening twins.
Through the oval window a stranger peers down—do they ache to trade places?
I salute with lazy fingers; envy, like contrails, dissolves with my perceived sin.

The lake turns church-window hues, a sacred escape to liquid spaces.
I rise from the lake, water cascading in liquid applause down breasts and thighs.
Let the world resent, let it whisper; I inhabit this skin like a kingdom’s praise.

I towel off slow, each stroke a blessing to these clear, blue, nude skies,
while geese, turkeys, strangers aloft still choke on the martinis of their gaze.
Remember this, voyeurs—my bronze is hard earned; envy dries slower than skin.