December 2021

by Robert Beveridge 

There was still a touch

of daylight on the lake as we walked

the beach, aimless, and out

onto the jetty. Erie stretched

before us, endless and black,

deep with cool and possibility.

I could spend forever

in your eyes, and I did,

the last vestiges of light towards the pupil,

ever more grey until the outer rim,

as charcoal as the sky above us,

and as pregnant with rain.

It would be nice to say

the first drops fell as our lips touched,

but instead the rain held off,

built itself behind the far-away lightning.

We decided not to wait, kisses

like a river of chardonnay, clothes tossed

onto the rocks around us. Your body so new

to me now open, ready for exploration.

That's when it came and covered us, 

chill of rain a relief inside the sweaty night.

The salty darkness of you mixed

with rain on your neck, caught beneath

my tongue, savored. There was

nothing else but rain and blackness

and the curves of your body forever new

to be explored and your eyes, as always,

filled with the promise of rain.