Breakers

He clasps my hand,
draws me into the surf,
our fingers a knot of buoyed flesh.
“Just a little farther,” he implores,
strands of damp hair clinging
like tentacles to copper cheeks,
mirrored Ray Bans covering green eyes,
languid, beguiling,
peeling back my layers—
skin and stay until evening tide, bone and bless me for I cannot swim—
each dissolving like whispers
of others who also implored,
“Just a little farther.”
I untie my fingers, watch him drift.
His voice skips over crashing waves,
dangles in the wind, then dissipates.