32. SANDCAKED HEARTS
A fragrance of heavenly driftwood smoke,
the smell of last night's rendezvous,
is clinging to my leather coat
from our fire that burned through the night, but choked.

Our sandcaked feet braced each other
for the coming storm of truth and dare.
I dared to venture into the stars
of your brilliant and beautiful stare.
Dazed like a deer in the headlights,
I gently teased the strands of hair
that swayed with ease across your blushed cheeks.
My touch, it lingered there.

"Kiss me," she said with her breath in my ear.
"Hold me and kiss me hard."
She clutched me like an inspiring dream.
I'd oblige, but I drifted too far.
Hands shaking, I cradle her face in my hands
and wipe the single tear.
And so I fail this awkward dance
and retreat to holding her near.

Now the mist is creeping in, hanging like gray attitude.
The tide is rolling, consuming my smoldering throbs.
The seagulls join me in crying in destitude
from a weekend of reminisced thoughts.