The day was warm with a windy cold
airbrushing our faces; the sun drying
its rays in our eyes through fronds
of grass and cool sea on sandy feet.
We grabbed a stick of salt-rimmed
carbon, and wrote in the particles
of tumbled time, tanned as ageless
as our sentiments in the sediment.
Inductees of Schrute; our initials
pencilled down and frozen in frame
as hickeys rose; before the cloth
of the sea made it all flat again.