It is getting dark, we walk
away from the couples, who, just like us
have not seen the sun go down

The picnic baskets are empty
You pack up the peels and I
pretend to look past you and you

pretend I don't attract
your attention, knowing that
our skin is glowing for more
You are smoothly sculpted
like a Greek god

I brush through your hair
The sea moans under the rocks
Our room is still far away

but I can imagine you
hanging out nicely, kneadable
in the grip of my hand