The sea bounces off the rough edges of the rocks
A mild breeze unsettles hime-cuts and mohawks
The afternoon aspires to be an evening
The sun has roasted the long footpath
Sudden as his hand mounts
On her expectant shoulder like ethereal comfort
And two birds fly into the depth of the sky
A cone of ice cream slips over her lips
And draws across them an abstract line of a thick brown
Ocean drops spattered on the dying afternoon
Watery patterns on the endless film of the sky
Between the two of them sways a young joy, steam-bathed
In the moment evaporating above the humble cutting chai
