The unmistakable.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Down by the dock, where the sand met the grass, Fate loved the Fearless.
It was the kind of dusk that kept the glowing shades of indigo and red separate. A fine line in the sky showing you how things begin, and whispering that up there, endings have no worth.
Somewhere along the way an old 78 spun a lazy tune. The kind that saturates everything in honey and pauses the fastest of heartbeats.
Our feet were bare, the water was close. Slow lapping, foam tickling arches.
My toned back was naked. A barely there fabric dipped deep down, exposing the dimples above my hips. It’s the kind of thing that wraps, because midsummer makes us all lazy. Humidity weighs us all down.
Your hands traveled the length of my spine, just to scale back up. A climber addicted to the fall.
My head in the crook of your neck. My arms hanging over your shoulders. Feeling your chest expand and detract with your breaths transported me to sea. Bobbing idly along, fish nipping on fingertips.
The record down the line continues to spin, and we sway until the color has left the sky.
Fate used to love the fearless.
