In fluttering, minutely saddened sighs,

full of deep down torrents, bathed in crimson,

deeply embracing the languid blue.

Sand would slip through her fingers as she lifted her

palms to my cheeks. And sand would fall from my face

as her lips went back to wait for mine.

In whirling lacy jags, under the canopy of small flickering

summer stars, with the wind like waves in the air above. And

beside, like the hum from a million oboes, soft deep waves rushing towards.

The tip of my finger ran up the length of her leg like a drop

of water descending the stem of an iris. Barely touching her as her

soft hand glided up my back towards the soft blue above us.

In the distance, wind was blowing through an empty pink conch shell

In the distance, everything was becoming secret