Senioritis

At The End For Bill Rooney He was so old his bones seemed to swim in his skin. And when I took his hand to feel his pulse I felt myself drawn in. It was as faint as the steps of a child padding across the floor in slippers, and yet he was smiling. I could almost hear a river running beneath his breath. The water clear and cold and deep. He was ready and willing to wade on in.

White Crest Beach Grains of sand tangle our hair as the ocean advances up the beach behind our backs and water invades the inlets between our toes. I roll over and you kiss the salt off my lips, your head looming above eclipses the sun; your blond hair shades my face. I see your mouth curl: pearl necklace on display. When you pull away, shafts of light shutter my eyes and my skin offers the annual cellular sacrifice: small price for this bliss.