Our thighs touch, salty from the ocean,

which I saw in your eyes when we first met.

I want to touch you, your hands, your hair, strands made of gold,

like the sun that kisses your skin during the summer.

I don't know what it is about you, but it was more than enough,

to make me fall in the abyss of infatuation,

at the beach.

"you're beautiful"
you told me
"really?"
"of course"

everything you need
is inside you
you are a miracle
do not let this world
make you forget
who you are

I could use a couple
of bookends to hold up
all these words. They're seams
are unravelling and they're toppling

over onto each other. The pages
are all yellowed and some I fear are
missing altogether. But it would
sure  make a nice presentation to have

them lined up straight,
even if the binding has loosened. And
there seems no use in acquiring such
support that persons easily abort.