Coney

we sat with our feet facing the water

our shoulders just barely touching

we traded soft spoken poetry

over radio static

the beach was still

and summer was ending

we struck up fist fulls of white dust

making patterns from nothing

grasping at pebbles and shells

in hopes of eventually touching

we dipped our toes into the water

wet sand stuck to your legs like glue

the night we met i envied the sand

if only i could be that close to you