I’m thinking of you thinking of me,

And I feel like red sand that would slip

Through your fingers like a dream

If your hands were not wet.

I can’t look away from

How it coats your sweaty palm until

You absently drag it across your chest,

Scattering memories of me

all over the surface of you.

I look away from the grit

Of it and see stars,

Navy- black nights waiting for

bruised moons to rise

The way my voice

Once shot out, in sport.

But something about this

Now stops me short,

bewildered by tranquility

Found in sweet, sudden equanimity.

-AngelBrynner©️2026.