You traced the horizon with your fingertips
as if the sunset was something you painted
with Kool-Aid and cornstarch.

The ocean spit salty on the backs of our necks
As the sun faded behind the skyline of the city.
You kissed me hard then lit a cigarette. Laughing,
"Nobody watches the sunset on the East Coast."

I lay my head on your shoulder
as you dug trenches in the sand with your feet.
We sat in silence for a while, and that was okay.
You always said if the words aren't there, don't force it.

If the love isn't there don't force it.

If the love isn't there don't force it.

If the love isn't there don't force it.

I keep that sunset you painted with me all the time
and I look at it when I can't remember
what the sun feels like.

Wrinkled with time and more dull than I remember
it still stains my fingertips red and leaves a sugary sweet taste
on my tongue.