even in its light the night’s dark shades
still painted swaths along our sea –
our conversation ebbed carelessly and tired,
creeping up along the beach,
each of us settled on this bench named Eve.
some lamp above our minds flickered undecided
in the wake of our impatience for morning.
some ellipse of geese gave the dawn its perforations
as the curious air beckoned our relations.
distinct was the absence of vacant reassurances;
in grunts and nods our speech and understanding.
quite readily we’d speak of sex,
guessing where the sun would rise.
I had run my fingers along our bodies -
still and quietly arranged in perfect geometry
on your bed.
but this was long ago.
for now the ocean pulled its tides back home,
and with it the residue of a yesterday that died.
for the lady of our discontent had peaked beyond the curl,
and the riptides reminisced the boy they drowned just hours ago.
right then we did not know... he was our age.