Our hands dance
together to the ebb and flow
of the tides
on this chilled September night.

Eyes stuck in long pause,
not here nor there,
just exactly where
desire has placed them.

Seated behind her in dirt
dragging her foot back
she slid her left knee high
pushing her denim thigh to mine.

The fire hissed and cracked
like a revolution
and the sea mountains
looked like sleeping giants.

A single sailboat floats
under the spotlight of the moon,
it rocks to the rhythm of want,
a rhythm we began to mimic.

The dancing hands waltzed
then slid across the plains
grazing where needed,
forceful where wanted.

They swapped the scenery
when we had finished,
the sea mountains for a cubicle,
the sex for a text message.

09/25/2013