Even so small, you command
so, so many of my stray thoughts. 
A week of white sands
and the soothing sea breeze
only strengthen my stirrings for you.

You’re in the spirited sunset
hanging over the evening stroll down the beach
through the splashes of the incoming waves.
You are the silky sifting of sand
between the toes of my buried feet.

You are the tired head resting
on my shoulder in the beach house
laid out on the couch watching TV,
exhausted from a festive day,
getting ready to turn it in for the night.

You are the little futures running about screaming,
much too early to seriously consider
given our current, unformed state.
Still, you have become my best hope
of maybe getting me there someday.

But yet again, this is not my year
for bringing life to these despairing fantasies.
Only the dream remains, shrinking,
wearing your face in this particular case,
and me, hoping this wasn’t the last chance to make it real.