Oblivious to the movements and happenings of the harbour, they slept side by side, both shirtless, beneath a full and generous summer sky, his shoes turned over, as though kicked off as a last thought before sleep took hold.
When they awoke, she removed his right sock, grasped his foot and picked at it gently as if cleaning a wound, bent with intent, utterly consumed in the task. Afterward, they kissed, for a long time, like it was the first time, or the last, and nothing else existed but the kiss.
They garnered few looks, and spared even less for the people strolling and sitting about. After another kiss, another crossing of the water taxis to the island, he knelt before her, bared his head, and she sat over him, bent with intent again, this time a dry Bic razor in her hand, as she carefully shaved the back of his neck, in a manner approaching ceremony, with the same unwavering focus, as though each stroke of the blade were a brush of the lips.