Swirling, blending,

random Antiguan sands

blur into the cobalt blue

waves and waves and waves

of sweat beading at the edge

of my inner thigh

moist with lotions and oil

secret potions, toil and trouble.


There’s something about

your obsidian eyes that stops time.

There is nothing,

no sound, no scent, no sense

only the black dark pupils

shredding the event horizon

balanced on the edge

of Heisenbergian dichotomy.


We slip and slide

into the present of this future past

not yet knowing how the me and me

becomes the us of a we

where the yes I do

really means what it says

on this small silent day

when I lose you.



Mark writes poetry and fiction. He holds a BA in English from the University of Illinois at Champaign-Urbana and a BS and MBA. He is a lifelong resident of the Chicago area and currently lives on the north shore, his professional career has been in digital strategy and online consulting.