the ocean motel

we wake up early on this april
morning.

our feet cold in the damp room
of the cheap

boardwalk motel.

we hear the crash
of waves rushing towards
shore,

the fine print of wind
blown salt and sand
in our eyes,
our hair.

we pull the heavy curtains back,
and as if a broadway

show, the glitz of sun appears,
over a gem of an ocean,
the plateau of sand
before it.

we stand there and say nothing.
so much blue sky
to take in.

we've already made

love, but if we hadn't now would
be a good time to start.

she kisses me on the cheek
and says no,

let's go, she says,
bundle up, it looks cold.

let's take a walk.