The trees sway in the wind, I turn to feel a touch
on my shoulder. A mutual fund for grey skies,
nurturing a capacity for sadness, endless highs
and lows, a feeling of not seeing you that much.
Your eyes fixed on the back of my head, I feel
a pounding, pounding headache, your light
touch dismisses it in a minute. Your hand, tight,
slides down my back, softly to the left heel.
Over the shoulder blades, unhurried and slow,
rootless, anchorless, your fingers fly. The tips,
trimmed nails. From behind, my heart skips
the beat, our souls blend as one, calm but low.
A pool of sea water saunters at our feet, my
feet are wet to the ankles as I step in, hands
grab, jerk me from my musings. There the sands
are wet, you are damp with tears, soon to be dry.
As you stand alone in front of me, I put your fingers
in mine, webbed together, glued together, we
are relieved by temporary bells heard out at sea.
Upbeat, tender and mine, the moon softly lingers.
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