this afternoon is a paradox. wet pages, and your name scrawled across a scrap of paper, (the wind will catch it and I will lose every trace of you.) But in this moment, life is magnificent.
I can't remember being any more naked than right now. metaphysically, completely, truly. and for some reason
this is the only way to smile and mean it .. while you're ultimately, beautifully, unequivocally vulnerable.
the ocean is a mess, my hair and thoughts are a mess, the wind keeps tearing pages out of your magazine, and I watched you draw an enormous heart in the sand before the waves washed it away. this must be where love begins and takes you. to deserted beaches, so that you can have conversations with lovely strangers about the philosophies of happiness.
I am sure we appear strange. But neither notices our self. As the tide comes in.
Me sitting yoga posed, absent of clothes, poetry in my hands, and you beside me in your rolled-up jeans and braids We laugh and speak about travelling across California. About where we've been and where we're going to be. And it is simple and honest and delicate. As the tide comes in.
I am pleased to be here now. I was pleased to meet you.
Andrew Tipton
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