writers retreat

two single beds 
a rickety nightstand 
squished between 
on it, 
a bowl of popcorn kernels and a 
puddle of fluorescent butter and regret.
we would watch choppy episodes of Parenthood
our cheeks and shoulders still glowing 
with the heat of the Florida sun.
we talked and talked 
and talked some more 
like waves that always come back
to the shore. 
our routine for each day was as follows:
wake up when ever you want
put on damp swimsuit and brush teeth
gather sunscreen and books
tromp across the street scattered with 
walkers, bikers, 
and floating bikinis
step onto gritty white sand 
and make way to 
the closest spot as possible at the  
ocean's edge. 
lay out. 
soak up sun. 
talk and talk some more. 
park our buns in water 
and exfoliate face with rocky sand 
scooped from 
bottom of the ocean
get good and tired 
from sun and sand 
and make our way back to 
landing pad
dust sand off 
grab book and head to pool 
read, read, and read some more. 
jump in, take a dip, 
then read, talk, and snooze
when dusk comes 
walk and talk and find yourself a snicky snack
munching on beet chips, 
sharp white cheddar, 
and the saltiest salami.
start to slow down.
return to choppy episodes that won't load properly 
because the internet is poor
but it doesn't really matter
because we have more talking to do anyways..
sentences start to s l o w down. 
chelsea prepares our magnesium witches brew 
and we begin to feel the effects quickly after..
lights out
talk fades 
and the truest, deepest, contented rest 
arrives..
wake up. 
repeat..