Tiptoe

The waves tiptoe up the dark bare sand of the beach. Over and over, they wash our feet with their dying churn before retreating to the safety of the vast ocean. Behind the beach on which I lay is the island, a large unlit foreboding presence in the dim washed out moonlight that is the night. The fire beside which we made love on the beach still burns just outside the reach of the waves but its warmth and light have been turned inwards. It won't be long before it consumes itself. There is no one else on the island to heed the quiet warnings in the endless dance of the waves.

As the dark on the beach gets deeper, bit by bit the waves gather courage to reach higher and higher underneath my naked body. I can feel the sand beneath my back slipping away little by little with each retreat of the waves. Feeling untethered, I look behind and the mass of the island seems distant and small. I close my eyes, and let time like the sand slip away from between us.

When at last I can feel your hand in mine I turn towards you to kiss the dark wet hair that curls around your ear and whisper, “Did I tell you, my love?”

You turn back towards me, reaching with your lips to kiss my nose. I cannot help smiling whenever you do that.

“Did I tell you that you are always on the tip of my mind.”