April 10, 2011
remember that day
that we biked barefoot
to the ocean
and you compared the sea glass to my eyes
and buried me in sand
and lent me your sweatshirt
when the sun went down
and built a fire of driftwood
that burned green
and our kisses tasted of pennies
and dancing in the rain
and hot pavement
and then we made up constellations
in in the stars
and my hand fit perfectly in yours
a lock and key
and I wrote your initials in the sand
with a twig
but then the tide took them away
and there was nothing left at all
but sea glass tears
and pennies in the street

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