The tides
flow
a gentle pounding
motion
constant
unaltered 
our rythmns move
in sync
our
       thoughts,  bodies, souls, dreams
move in like High
We gather
And hold each other
Riding the gravity
Waves on a future run
the moon changes
we begin a 
separation
sweat, tears, smells
we tremble apart
low tide hits
it's friday
a week of dragging
over sand
we
part


To Charissa
R. David Paine III
06-27-97  10p.m.