With translucent clouds
in a graying sky
how can we say good-bye to
the delightful sound of
our soft bodies
swimming in the distance?
Only somber stars hear my cry
as I chase the wind
back to a lie I found
on an empty beach
where I last heard
a salt-filled mist
moan my name.
I left my imprint on the sand
in hopes that you will come
back to a lonely man
who still chases you
in his dreams.
My invitation is on each grain
from a fresh fountain spilled
with pain for you
to massage beige hands
through the moisture
of damp sand.
Press it upon parted lips.
Mask your soft white face,
and let blondish memories
grind intense moments
in your flesh.
Shawn R. Jones