PLASTIC AND BROKEN GLASS
When they turn the lights out, and we're left out here in the dark together.
You sift through the sand to find a shell that you would later string onto a necklace and tie around my neck.
Then you kiss it.
I held your hand to say thanks.
The neighborhood's dark and salty air, where no one locks their doors.
Bonfires on islands reachable by little boats, we send out flowers with flames, into the ocean to float away. They flicker light for what seems like stretches forever.
We don't talk about these things.
At night, we slide against the rocks. You tell me it'll be our little secret...