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.