Humans clothed in their own skin, Bare for all to see, Chasing plastic bags, Turning towels to face the beams, Like soft sun dials, Who leap in the waves And share salty kisses As the foam breaks against Their cooked leg meat; Then return to dry in the grit And the dust of the beach. The eternal sand, Found weeks, months, years After the beach is forgotten, In creases at the bottom of bags, Dug out by finger nails searching For some miscellaneous crap.