he had been the golden hour at dusk
together we dyed the coastline orange
and left it a deep red rose
the salt and the sand mix in with the waves,
the sound of the fall,
the rush of the foam,
where we once stood tanned brown by the hour,
now i would be crushed;
crumpled by the current and bled away,
parallel down the coast
riptides are nothing more than old memories,
water we use to remember those eyes
and the pounding of the times.
but all you can do is say
rip-tides, rip-times
