I didn’t want to go in but you convinced me that it was a must.
We live the essence of the shop; we are the year-round tourists.
The aisles were too close and you weren’t enough. My sunburnt
shoulders touched hanging cotton and beads and masks and I tried
on that skimpy sequined top that made me look like a popstar. You
said, ooh la la. You said, say something to me in French [Je ne t’aime
plus.] Then laughed, wandering toward the snow globes. You held
it with such care and I wanted to be kissed in one, one that you held,
precarious, in your goofy hands. With cuticles I always try and
push back, like you with the wisps in my face. But why, your eyes
are the oceanside town and I want to put them in the snow globe,
you said while watching the fake flakes fall.