she dives silently beneath its cool and placid embrace.
In the distance, I hear the sound of a car crossing an unkempt wooden bridge
as she climbs sinuously onto the floating dock and calls to me softly–
“Come on,” she pleads. “It will be dark soon. They will be wondering where we are.”
The pungent scent of summer blossoms passionately in the alfalfa
as the waters of my unrestrained indulgence glisten off her sun-kissed skin.
and I wonder how heavy the heart of a sinking sun is
as I wade into the uncharted waters of
© Charles Coakley Simpson 2010