Honeymoon

The moon lapped sand all reflective of immense time, atomised particles of this n that, geological end state and nice between the toes, like the warm water, and you afraid to take off your swim-suit because that bright moon, relic of a space crash between planets, now dumb orbiting reflector rock shone so beaming bright as to stop night or turn it to a well lit stage set for wave frolics and you, a little coy now, afraid others up the beach might see us laughing honeymoons at them, water running off us all milky silver in that surprising bright light, a light you could read books in, books of advice perhaps for lovers transforming slowly in the waves into something steady as rocks but praying silently between whoops that the waves we’ll sail into won’t wear us down to powder, won’t sand us down, and saying if they do we’ll drift as dunes together and march up the land, squeeze between the trees and take over. Dunes move slower than moons you think as we plash back into ink waves and come up eyes full of stars all upside down and unhidden in this hemisphere and there’s warm water, warm laughing water of you, and then still, to watch the what’s that? horizon, where it’s squid boats we think lined up lantern lures, and more laughing naked now, and the how lucky feeling and it would take all night to choose the luckiest star all domed out piercing purple sky with dying light so turn and run then, faster than we can, mindful of the moon all her quiet push and pull at those waves, all her rhythms ellipses and elision, and no one up the beach can see, but smile to hear laughing lovers as the lanterns, bob, disperse then  disappear.