by Beth Bernstein
The gulls are long gone this year
headed for belly-flop feasts
on more plentiful shores.
Maybe they'll be back next Fall.
I miss their cries, the funny nose-dives
into the cool sand while you garnered
sand dollars and shells
from the waters' jagged edge.
I would lie back and dream
with closed eyes, see the winged silhouettes
fly close by - they were so bold.
You would crawl beside me
and cloud their magnificence,
covering my face
with shadowy kisses,
molding me with feathered breath
I wanted to take then, not give
take your legs between my own,
squeeze until it hurt
and you begged for more
I wanted to feel you squash me
with your smooth, flat chest,
our feet sinking together
beneath the sandy shoal.
I wanted you to read to me
at twilight, my head on your belly
the birds circling over our heads
as the last sun disappeared
beneath the horizon.