Six ouzos ago standing in San Carlos alone
but for wife with bad cold we watched the heavy drops on palms of weighty drizzle stop and sun blister forth from tropic mist of sky above the graysmoke clouds awry to brighten limestreak yellow bus all the way to La Libertad’s resort called Lalimar with pumice stone green ocean shore and brimfilled pool of turqoise hue beneath twin chromish minded sky of breezeless blue. Our table nearby had freshleaved nipa roof as shade before a windslight scene of laughing kids and charming ladygrins wet like sweaty baked brown bread but tearlike streaky droplets instead as if the earth were but one giant squint of sunkissed splash of love for all is meant.
Then the excellentish bangos fish arrived tomato stuffed sinugba surprise with kinilaw seaweed ciele aside some spicey tealike drink of cryptica exotica and to this day whenever plush rains of midaft waken me to tile roof patter above my room I’ve just then dreamt of San Carlos road to Lalimar all paved with high jinks rollick of limelike bus to land of banana mango shakes and sunlit face of newfound joy of every noontide sea!
