Love At Low Tide
Somewhere deep in the past, on a beach overcast, I sprint through damp sand in pursuit of my lover at play… Of the highest esteem, I hold each film noir dream that pits her radiance against a sky most defiantly gray.
Her laughter, though exhausted, echoes brilliance unmatched in a world as pale and silent as the space inside a pearl. Her caramel knees feign a fall that renders her, for a moment, within reach… buttocks painted with the beach, taunting in a crawl.
She peers coyly over her shoulder, then playfully rolls over to reveal sand on her belly and thighs… caked around her navel, as she reclines in a position most able to await me with panting breaths and ghostly blue eyes.
She then tears off in a test, drops her top and cradles her breasts as she sprints through a cloud of scattering birds… laughing back through a mask of wind-blown hair, jet black; we found one another because I’m a fool for a beautiful face… and you’re a fool for beautiful words.
© 2014 Brandon Gene Petit