spray tans and sangria

we were making our mark on the beach,
like in those horrible teen flicks where they tear up the town for spring break.

except, our mark was much more subtle;
beach chairs leaving long indents,

and the wind blowing our umbrellas to submission.
i laughed at the way you tried so desperately to get it to reopen,

like prying open the jaws of life on a car flipped one too many times.
sometimes, i feel like that too.

that unique beach-side cafe,
the one with red and orange striped awnings -

it had the best pineapple sangria i ever had
which isn't saying much, since i've only had it two times before.

watching your face twist and contort,
like your features are trying to escape the sourness

you will willingly allowed inside -
hey, that sounds familiar.

the water crashing against the shoreline,
and the spray of the ocean is effectively coating

our spray-tanned skin in fresh dew
while the drinks disappear and laughter replaces their space in our mouths

and in that moment, staring up to the cloudy sky,
i never wanted to leave.

let it be a groundhog day kinda phenomenon,
but i wanted reality to slip away for just a little while longer.

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