We sit on the wave-licked shore, gazing at the blue

until we don't know which is sea and which is sky.

We know such closeness, the slow disappearing

so familiar when two bodies shrink from starvation

and we begin to remember "til death do us part."

We can hold tight to only our love in this Eden,

as hope dissolves like days becoming less defined.

Our S.O.S. in the sand is now decoration for this home.

We've learned to forage for food, built a simple shack,

raised a warm fire on the shore and in ourselves.

And as night returns, we bask in the crackling glow,

spinning our wedding bands around dirt-caked fingers

and forgetting the perfumes of long-unwashed skin.

We look up to the stars, our dear friends in this place.

While we never see a boat or helicopter on the horizon,

we know these lights come back to us every night.

And the gulls will sing for us at sunrise and onward,

even after we sink deep down into the sand

and become nothing but an obstacle for scuttling crabs.