presentism

(The course of true love never did run smooth. – William Shakespeare)

 

the morning fare is salty air

standing at the top of your stairs

which lead to your dwelling place

my fingers fashioned on your face

 

i say goodbye, last night we tried

to sojourn to the satisfied

i breech the beach just within reach

while waves wash the shores of long beach

 

i met you last night before dusk

defenses shucked like a corn’s husk

but morning’s weaker than the night

no foundation, just a flight

 

red solo cup filled with beer

a cigarette and all i hear

are waves doing what all waves do

something so old and nothing new

 

so noisy that i do not hear

bare feet on sand drawing near

and when your stride is by my side

inside out i cannot hide

 

from the meaning of this gesture

love’s a vessel without vesture

red solo cup with its remains

you take from me and quickly drain

 

back of your head, hand in your hair

i pull you close in salty air

penetrate you with my tongue

forgetting we’re no longer young

 

dust and rust create mistrust

but at this age its love or bust

shifting gears without a handle

back to your place to get sandals

 

no shirt, no shoes, no service

we coalesce with compliance

breakfast plates and mimosas

tiny table, closeness thereof

 

i take the napkin from your lip

a pen from the waiter’s hip

with ink i print on napkin lint

“can what breaks the heart be a splint?”

 

you read my words unsaid but heard

say, “pay the check, let’s transfer”

then take my hand and say to me

“walk with me back to the sea”

 

upon the sand where we both sit

passing my flask after each hit

on your phone go to spotify

skylar grey’s “i love the way you lie”

 

no answer to my question

love’s mistake is in possession

no endowment in atonement

hold my hand within this moment

 

***