Tapioca Beach

I traverse across an open stretch of tapioca beach.
The moon glows softly through sulphur turtleneck haze,
Allowing a lone aviator to flicker at her smoky skirt
passionately.
Soon such adolescent fleetness will somber the sky-dancer as focus
shifts to his terrestrial intruder.
The albatross will don the hooded visage of vulture
And with each scraping hour, his circular noose will tighten,
swallowing any opportunity for breath;
But for now--time sludges by endlessly.
I lay amongst the silken sea-silt in forlorned anticipation;
Crying out lacks pragmatism--
Tiresias has yet a sweater to knit.