Catherine Hill Bay – Miro Sandev

It was no one’s idea
in particular, no plan

as we panting, ran naked —
asphalt licking foot soles

our chests a blank canvass
for moon’s light work

hurdling over thicket
drunkenly equestrian

we bruise-bashed
our way to the beach.

Somewhere in the wave duvet
a moment stalked — snuck up

our momentum turned meta,
pockets of thought surfaced

scratch-heads we rummaged
in our garage of responses

for an appropriate ode,
finding none

we picked out the school song:
some verses about falcons.

Torsos trembling in the ocean
glowing krill cupping our balls
we savaged that night.