sandcastles

There is sand beneath my toes.
I hate the feel of squishiness so I walk to the cabin to change. he remains. Cold beer in a cooler and too much ice. We watched the ice water run down to the lake for a while, form a river through somebody’s sandcastle. Somebody’s dreams dashed in the surf.
Ever since we got here I’ve been thinking about broken dreams and promises. Things that are made and cast aside.
I went inside and watched a curtain float on the breeze.
The air tastes different here. Softer. More white cotton and lace eyelet.

The shower felt good on my skin. Little pellets of salt water taffy coming through somebody’s rusted over shower head. I remembered what it felt like then. Cool hands on an overheated body. Love in a pay by the hour motel. The dirty, sticky, needless feel of it.

The sand fell smooth beneath my toes. I slipped out of the shower as messy as when I’d stepped in. you were in the kitchen. Hissing of fish frying, smell of oil on frying pan gave you away.
I kissed virgin oil from your finger tips while clean air swirled around us.

Outside the sand fell through an hourglass we could no longer see, or sense.