15.01.21
It’s 1987.
She’s smiling at the waves cascading,
looking out at a world that didn’t exist.
In the emollient, rosemary morn’s glow
pregnant with prickly pear scents
a cherry-pickled dress crashed into the foam
and up bobbed a nest of blonde.
Kissed by the wind; nourished by the sea,
I watched my sweetheart flee.
might delete later.