We wrote swears on the ocean’s edge while the sun rose.
What hearts are these, that could love the beach’s
most vulnerable, toe-stubbing thoughts, printed on its yawning forehead?
And what hands are these? Laced around coffee mugs of wine,
our lips and teeth purple with the effort.
The dog only knows the truth of it, and only for an instant:
White washed legs and a tongue of sand.
Later, our bodies will ache with acquired wisdom.