Short-lived our summers on the beach,
hungry to bodysurf the curl
of the lip, the face hollowed out,
rash young men with fins on their feet,
envisioning tubes at shore break.
Believe me when I say we rode
right past each other on one wave,
elegantly gliding across,
above as below, we slid past,
kings for a magical moment.
The hollow tube was always best,
unbelievable, unlikely,
by not colliding in slipstream,
ephemeral, our summers gone.
No comments:
Post a Comment