It must have been two in the morning
both of us on the living room floor
the flickering of a late late show casting shadow and light
in black and white
after a blazing July day at the shore
with little worn over young sunburned bodies;
holding hands casually touching each other
in the air the magical essence of sea salt, sweat and Coppertone.
Alone in the room with our excitement
her parents sleeping upstairs;
in our arousal
we threw caution to the wind.
We still weren’t wearing much on that heavenly Summer night
the delight of flesh, quickly bared between half opened clothes
the intoxicating vision of it coming to rest
some sixty years later here, in words.
Loving each other
eyes wide open
not to make a sound.