I used to be a romantic. Staring into her pearls, illuminated by the dusk orange, mango light glittering into mine. Lemon tinge saturated skin. Caressed by the salty wind, sometimes, I felt, even before mine.

The grainy gold-ash pebbled ground like a powdered cushion, our feets suck deep. Whisk, and whim of clashing waves, crashing into the shore. Nebulous sky blue mirror of perpetual unrest, trickles. Bickering seagulls on sandcastles.

My olympian gaze at venus, her acoustic voice. Her arachnid stare into me. She's a siren. I used to be a romantic.