She will shiver as she steps out of the sea.
You will wait as she carefully tip-toes across the
smooth stone shore,
then arms wide open, you will wrap a blue towel
around her shoulders and kiss the salt on her scalp,
whispering the words you wish you’d heard in your youth.
You will climb the crooked steps,
as long grass brushes your calves.
You feel the sun warm the left side of your face
as you lift the handle of the picnic basket
into the crook of your arm,
shouting back laughing ‘come on we’ll be late.’
You will later rinse the lather from the glasses
(small stemmed and embossed in that French style you like)
then feel his warmth on your neck
as the shush shush of waves lap and
he’ll whisper to you the words you wish you’d heard in your youth.