This poem began as an ode to a walk on the beach with my former best friend before a hurricane. It rapidly morphed into something else. I may break the references to Lucifer off into its own poem, but the muse is oddly silent on that matter at the moment. We shall see.
There were no gulls
They knew what was blowing in
from off the Gulf
and stayed at home
But not us,
It was our last night,
and we weren’t about to miss
that one last walk on the beach,
tempest be damned.
The only thing
more magnificent than the beach
is the beach
the night before the storm
Anticipation and salt thick on the wind,
like angels’ tears.
Wrath of Lucifer, blowing ever-closer to the shore.
But even Lucifer was an angel once,
and experience says his fall
did not affect his tear-ducts.
The surge lapped at the doors
of the beach-level hotel rooms.
We went out, anyway,
whipped to a glorious frenzy
by the prevailing winds.
Water swallowed us up to our knees,
shorts soaked from hip-high swells on the berm,
each retreating wave
playing succubi on our exposed calves
and ripping the sand from beneath
our red Yellow Box flip-flops.
I felt a Goddess,
brought to a Life above life–
caught in its power,
somehow made a friend.
Did you feel intoxicated? I did.
I reveled in the cataclysm.
Perhaps Lucifer knew of
my secret sympathy for him.
The poor bastard hoped to share with a kindred,
his sound and and his fury…signifying what?
Did we speak much? I can’t remember.
All that matters was that I was there,
vivified and deified, with you.
Lucifer reached out to touch mad Persephone,
in affection, in pity,
knowing what came next.
The Devil, you see, knows love, too.
Love and betrayal, giving and receiving.
He gave me what he could–
a brief and shining moment before my own Fall,
knowing I’d rather spend it with you
And after that,
it was never the same again,
for you climbed the mountain
while I remained,
at sea level.