They stood on the beach by the access road, swaying like the pines and silent as stones, while the wind made tiny whitecaps on the lake, and the setting sun deliniated every care and hollow of her face. She asked a thousand questions, but gave voice to only the hardest one.

Talking to myself, I ask,
"Why should it be a mortal sin
to lick the last drops from the glass?"
Let's stand above the overpass
and watch the out-of-towners rolling in.

How long have I known you for?
Half an hour, and longer than this
lake's been blue. It chills my core:
the wind that dusts the rusty shore
and reeks of dreams and wishes gone amiss.

In my life, my greatest loss
was that of what I never had.
I tried to calculated the cost
of staying safe and never tossed,
but such accountancy will drive you mad.

What is cheaper than a kiss?
Perhaps some words I've heard before:
the knot of ignorance and bliss . . .
For once, forego the old hubris,
think less- perhaps I'll feel a little more.

Whisper in your ear: I ask,
"Do you think that it's such a sin
to lick the last drops from the glass?"
And will you stay until the last
light fades to stars, for that is when
our brightest breezy days begin?

They stood on the beach by the access road, swaying like the pines and still as silent as stones, while the wind made tiny whitecaps on the lake, and the moon played games with the silver in their hair. They asked a thousand questions, yet the single answer lingers in the starlight of their eyes.