The grip tape tore against the roses on my skirt
As I sat on approximately one half of the long board
The other half was occupied by your lovely self
We both laid back
Blades of grass only separated our faces
That and your hand which I wished you would put in mine
Or brush my cheek
Instead I looked away
And remark about the clouds
The one that looked like a turtle
Or a dragon
I forget
The point of it was
That you would see the clouds
And not the look on my face
Which would have told you the whole story
The story of what I thought of that hand in between us
And the delicate blades of grass
So easily breakable
Yet impenetrable
Or so I thought