Ciao, beachy scene. Air chills, so soon to triclinium for treats and recount.

Adieu like a skipped stone—a peck on cheek? Or, a stonebow’s throw—a smoochy smack? Waves welcome every plop.

Stay as long as credits roll; let each lit line from the horizon merit company until the infinitesimal space twixt blips its last dim.

When will see’s sea cease? With a bit of callidity, eye’s last etchings will hold during the walk home, where wait welcomes from swevens’ inks. ; )

Categories: Melange

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