This wistful beach-pop ballad
taints my view of the burgundy
roses blooming outside our bedroom,
while the kaleidoscopic shadows

on this green duvet now slink
as lucifactions of the sea,
sinking a bloated dwarf star
beneath its impassive rim.

The saccharine synthesizers,
the wet mix of reverb and chorus
pedal on a crisp guitar riff: suddenly
Summer is ending in a flurry of gulls.

The beach stands mute,
save for a young couple
pacing the shore,
facing one another.

He apologizes over the guttural
surf, reaches for her hands.

She shakes her head, turns
her face to the horizon:

It’s too late, it’s too late,
there’s not enough time.