The wave of me
crashes into her
with its peculiar twirling
and swirling of intensity; bubbling.
Only to recede back to the depths
as the sun begins drying her now smooth sands.
You see; she's not mine,
nor I, hers...
even though for a few intense moments;
we both pretend.
the contest begins.
That race to find a sock, or a bra
and the first one dressed wins.
An awkward goodbye
And a half promise that “we’ll have to do this again”
Said with a sly, yet fulfilled grin.
Old Friend...of the benefited persuasion.
A house could be built,
with the joules of energy that it takes to restrain
myself from her...and the taking; the biting, swirling, passionate,
hair pulling intensity of that wave crashing...
Having it only to recede back;
back to the depths, back to work, back to the doldrums of normalcy.
Only to return when that sand of hers needs smoothing again...
Old Friend........of the benefited persuasion.