How badly I wanted to lie with you on a beach in Capitola.
How fast my heart sped as I watched you yawn.
For too long I wondered how your skin would feel against mine.
Too much time spent wishing I could touch your hand, taste your lips, hear your breathing in my ear.
Somehow a lie fixes everything.
For some reason unbeknown to me, all is repressed.
And all there is
Lying on our own pastoral beach.
(I thought I'd take a stab at poetry.)
forever yours, November on