Indians or rabbits

Drenched from the surf
on an unguarded beach
we removed our jeans
to a blanket
between the dunes.

The tips of the black waves
sparkled like sequins
and your dirty blonde curls
took on a pink hue
as the moon hung at the end
of the silver path like a pendant
and lit the cool night air
with a diamond brilliance.

I laid under you and rubbed
my lips across your wrists
as you asked me if I thought
anyone had ever made love
on this exact spot.

This perfect spot where the soft
moving mounds of warm sand
met the damp hard sand
of the beach.

We squished that sand
through our toes
and I brushed it
from your eyebrows.
The salt in the air
and the smell of your breasts
as you pressed them to my lips
all beckoned like the moon
that the night be spent, caressed,
and I thought perhaps
Indians, or rabbits.

< Back | Slow Trains Contents | Roomful of Navels Contents | Other Chapbooks Next >