Lust

They think they can’t be seen.

Pressed against the sea wall beneath the pier, she's pulling him closer; painted fingernails grasping his hair, eyes shut and mouth open.

Her skirt rides higher and a flash of skin as pale as a lost memory transfixes me.

In a creaking deckchair, the sun drying my sagging skin, joints aching, I drag my gaze away and stare at the empty horizon.

Remembering that feeling.