It's gone past seven:
the sky is melting into the horison in shades of lazy smudged-blue,
and the waves tickle their fancy against the rocks,
rushing up to play catch with my toes
before sliding back with a grin.
The sun winks a gentle seeyatomorra
and slips away to waken other shores.
The breeze is mischievous and warm;
a solitary gull screeches at her partner like a mother reminding her child to close the gate;
the aroma of evening fires silently dances
like the whispers of clouds in a dream.
Above, way way above, the planets are playing frisbee with the stars.

If you were here ...ah, man....

I'd watch you just ... "be",

I'd let everything that you
are
simply
burst
into my world.