bday beach

at the beach with rick and crow.


he's on the bed, with guitar in hand.
waves rolling fifty feet away
peace kind of sliding in like a fog hiss

algebra of passion simplifies itself as the guitar moves
into the bathroom where the acoustics are better
and you don't get the buffet feedback from the tiki bar

we talk about last loves, lost love, what it takes to hate
or believe or want. i'm forty eight. almost fifty. i feel
like i want to be fifteen again and sit on top
of your open mind in the half light of a half moon
dim gray lights reflecting off the monolithic resorts, hilton
hyatt, raddisson full balconies, o0r just wide enough
for doggie style. this morning joe peeked

into the open window with his nail gun and his morning
cup of coffee. the harsh punch of whining metal into metal.
woke my ass up, yours too, naked over to the window
to pull the drapes. they muffle the high freqs enough for her
to go back and finish the dram of the dream. joe toes

it back to work. but now it's time for a swim. in.
salt water and skim board sacraments.