My trousers rolled up to my calves,
the foamy surf is surging out.

Ice plants are blooming,
covering the 
sandy beach
above the tide line.

Salty water is cold,
but the golden orb light warms my face,
so I feel happy,
for awhile.

Forgetting,
as my feet
leave
impressions
filling with dappled, seeping water.

Away from the shore
eucalyptus adorns
the scene, 
with odors, 
and bark
like bruises on the horizon, 
while the sun sinks lower towards the restless sea.

Once there would have been two 
of them,
two of the sandy steps,
two sets,
when we were one,
but no more.

Gulls call to the air,
and drop to pick up
detritus,
debris
along the bay of our beginning.

Perhaps I was just fated to be flung aside,
like forgotten
driftwood,
slowly becoming windblown,
washed away,
left as a broken sea shell,
tumbled with the churning waves,
but untouched,
useless, 
not treasured, unkept by your delicate fingers.

Not gathered to your jasmine scented bosom.
No more.

Shuddering,
I recall
the last time we looked into
each others eyes,
while you cried,
saying goodbye.

Without ever really telling me why,
adrift,
lost for the lack of compassion,
one last touch,
and the trail of jasmine wafting away.

You could not, would not, 
stay.

The coastline is treacherous 
with hidden dangers
in the pools,
so take care,
else it may gather you to its scented bosom.