Island lover

Euphoria, that’s the word.
Some time to causally wonder around your psyche.
Around you, your wealth and accomplishment glistens in the summer breeze.
The blissful aroma carried in that wind caresses your every notion of domestic life and taints it with its utopian elegance.
Down there lies your masculinity, it sways humbly and decently in the tropical wind.
A land of natural and unnatural radiance lies before you, stretching far beyond the horizon.
Gold dust at your feet caresses you tenderly, to the point at which it becomes unsettlingly pleasurable.
And you think to yourself, how can the natural and rational processes that surround you taint your thought processes and contaminate your sensibilities to the point at which you question whether they ever existed?
The magazine that once provided you with intellectual stimulation now shields you from it, its print lying incomprehensible against your pupils.
You lie in a land of purity like every philosophical, religious and political ideology foretold. Like Nirvana, The Big Rock Candy Mountains and Pure Communism all rolled into one.
The albatross glides gracefully overhead, its wings flowing hypnotically in the summer wind, you can’t help but follow its path.
You saunter out into the bay and shout obscenities at western society
And wade out into the tranquil oceans.
This is your euphoria.