Lovers’ feet tangled under a layer of sand, the toes sticking out breathing in the salty wind. Everything is entwined, everything is touching.
We love like young lovers, no patience for each caress; hurrying and stumbling, desperate for touch, desperate for love and affection. We don’t enjoy it like we used to, no longer will you wipe the hair out of my eyes and kiss my brow, smiling sweetly like a boy in love. No longer will I hug you tightly – unwilling to let our bodies stop touching for even a second, kissing your neck and whispering words of love.
These things we took so much for granted that we rarely notice them disappearing.
The (Western) Canadian 