Shattered

The water licks the shore, takes a bite from the edge until the sand erodes, slides beneath the clear surface, taking polished pebbles with it.

We walk hand in hand, your smile reflecting the bright sun that brings out your freckles. We stop to kiss while the ocean laps at our feet and tickles our toes. Your tongue curls around mine tasting like bubble gum and I lick away the grape lip gloss from your pink lips until the stickiness is all mine.

The ocean rushes and pushes the tide in, like a sheet of green glass shattering, then retreats, sucking the curls of white foam back into its surface.

The beach is strewn with plump starfish too limp to lift an arm, bits of wood and glass to avoid, strings of seaweed like a mermaid's hair.

Now my innocence is shattered, like a surfboard breaking the waves of that ocean that rushes the beach.