November 28, 2007
I keep us there on that beach,blanketed in unfamiliar fog with only the black eastern horizon to gaze upon.
On a night when neither the moon nor the stars dared pierce our dark escape, our galaxies collided as silent as the playful tide.
There we spoke of movies I’d yet to see, and of books you’d yet to read,
of Hamburgers and Tapas,
of Oklahoma and Oaxaca,
of coffee and cigarettes,
of your oblivious father and mine just in denial.
We spoke a language not quite Spanish, not quite English, but vibrant with euphemisms.
And as the earth seemed to sift into itself underneath us, our fingers grazed, uninvited but welcomed.
Our eyes fully dilated but not enough to see the flush upon our cheeks, they convened.
And the beer on my breath, the tobacco in your saliva, they met and swirled about like the salt waters of the Mediterranean, and the sands of Catalonia.
The lights of Las Ramblas they flared behind us provoking the night sky before us to its reveal new-fangled endeavors.
But we hadn’t the nerve to trek such undiscovered waters with the unseen coastline such a welcomed distraction.
Darkness though, it always gives way to twilight.
Adventures, they always end in sacrifice.
And the impressions we left in the damp sand, well they quickly washed away.