So much better

I’d lay on the beach in my finest silks next to you. In a ball gown. In a wedding dress. I’d bake, just like I did, in my black designer skirt again if only just to see the scant cornflower between your fingers as you shield my naked eyes from the sun. The oversaturated red edges of your skin obscuring the clouds. From this cocoon you form for me against the hot sand and the high noon sun, I hear only the whisper of the waves meeting the shore and your breath. These are the moments I’ll remember in the end. When my body is failing and my skin is stretched thin. When an entire lifetime has passed since these brief minutes. When I’m granted a mere handful of remaining breaths, I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m seeing that cornflower sky, feeling my tender skin cooking against the sand of Tobay beach, smiling against the rising and falling of your chest, until the very end. You asked if it’s okay for me to lay on the beach in my nice clothes. And I’ll tell you, it was everything.

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