I can't wait for salty summer evenings,
driving back from the beach with
your brown feet pressed against the steady
petrol pulse of my dashboard. The mix tape
we argued over will soak us in lyrics
that seem so much more profound
with sand in our hair and waterlogged
clothes that you'll shed like wrinkled skins
because I dragged you into the freezing sea
to be romantic and see if life ever does
feel like you're in an old black and
white movie.

I read a legend once, when hiding from
the rain in a public library, that told the story
of sea sirens who hid from sailors by
morphing
into seals. Seeing you stretched out
across my
front seat, all goosebumps and acres
of perfect
skin, makes me want to speed up and
take you
back somewhere secret, because in
the stories
I read, those sea sirens never stayed
until morning.