We had these golden berry bubbles that trailed off the tongue of every thought. We jump roped the conversation tired and sat on our ass to burn a memory though our eyes; a rustic sunrise dripping in saturated light. Three seagulls sailed off into the white and it reminded me of my mother who would draw that very image to make me smile as a child. I felt compelled to tell you. You listened.
“That’s adorable, Charles.”
You listened like a swooned moon reflecting in a blue lagoon, quiet and still.
We carried plastic cones whenever we released our tones, that day,
Submerging in the waves below, like driftwood to let it take us away. But I prodded an imagination, proposing that if we were to let the waves truly take our flesh, and we would not get hurt, what shore you thought you’d drift to.
“Would I drift away with you?”
“The unexpected answer to an unexpected mystery can only be received warmly if the victim of the mystery is open for anything.”
And we kissed into the backs of eachothers’ heads, bound by sun light, enthralled in the imagination, uncivilized by love.
We descended the rock near sun down. However, our bobbing souls had been designed on parchment, slipped into a glass bottle, and corked shut with the scent of that day. I radiate serenity and as does she, even though we left a little piece of us behind; something I’d like to believe is simply unexplainable.