Your father called out for you,
and we scrambled for our clothes.
I found mine first, jerked my
swim trunks on and watched you,
heart thudding in my throat,
hop on one brown leg to fish
your sand-crusted foot through
the leg-hole of your bikini.
The sharp point of a stowaway shell
burned a hole in my thigh.
Your father rounded the rock,
and found us standing,
wide-eyed, surrounded by jellyfish
washed up on the shore.
Breathless, we blamed
our crimson faces on the sun,
blamed the sweat sliding down
your belly and my back on the heat.
As we followed him back to the others,
in your eyes, I saw you clamshelling
our interrupted moment,
our secret in the sand.