Old Friend

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.
...and then
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.

Joel Clonts