R.M. Dolin, January 27, 2025
I still taste the tenderness of
sunrise on your touch,
the way you hold me,
or do I hold you?
In the end,
does it even ever matter?
The long ago of yesterday is
like a lone tent stranded along
an abandoned beach
waiting for something
that’s already happened.
You came to me in conflict,
as if that can ever even matter,
taking what’s been hidden
like whispers on wind,
or waves retreating off
the pristine sand of a beach
that’s highly traveled
but mostly forgotten. . .
Tell me you love me,
or at least
that you never did.
Let my soul find peace,
as if that's even ever possible.
From the R.M. Dolin novel, “What Is to Be Done.” Jake’s drinking alone and that never ends well. He misses his beloved Emelia who only passed three short months ago. The more he mourns, the more he wishes she never loved him; then at least the pain of her passing wouldn’t hurt so damn much.
Written on the beach of Tortola in the British Virgin Islands after a night spent drinking dark rum and playing cards at Nicole’s bar in Brewer’s Bay overlooking harbor yachts. We’re bivouacking on the beach because the campground we thought was here, got destroyed in the last hurricane. I wrote this in my tent as my cellphone light quickly fades.
