As grey-haired birds flirt over the lace- edged slide of waves he floats his gaze past the horizon of his cracked windowsill, rears at a monochrome wave rushing to tackle him, trap his widened eyes, tilt his head towards the sky until he snags on the amused glances of Venus and her two Dippers. With a turn of his back he drops to a blowfish playing hide-and-seek behind an anemone clad in a thin t-shirt draped over a pastel coral on the sea floor languidly. At 5 o'clock, he catches a furtive grin and waggling fin of a creature paddling as smoothly as Harry Connick singing under a full, frozen moon -- also, its teeth are yellow, ragged, draped with striated meat and huge. At 10 o'clock, Harry's boredom beyond the cave where he huddles, a mouth too small for the wide-bellied creature, releases a grin to wet his gums; on his way home, he leans his angular nose with a broken past into a school of jade minnows: their silver-flecked, ebony-tipped bodies like a spray of water on his face before his mischievous son runs away. Consequently, and with his wife's breath a scent of pineapples as her bee-stung lips carve the curvature of her smile on the hidden hollow of his neck, he draws the moon in as perfect a circle as he can muster.
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