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Santa Monica Beach

He was my pilot.

By Andrea CladisPublished 6 years ago 1 min read
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Santa Monica Beach, Sunset

SANTA MONICA BEACH

I will never forget

the luxuriant day we met.

Flowers of paradise, fluted glasses,

flirty Moscato wine.

You, an army pilot.

Me, a dancer.

We were barely 23.

Santa Monica beach was where you

first put your hand in mine.

Your warmth whelmed me.

The sun cast away shadows from

your kind, handsome face.

You returned the fourth week of

every month.

Your dark eyes drew me in,

gentle hands excited my skin.

My pleated blouses, your tan corduroy

The dancer, the pilot.

One day to marry, have children -

One girl, one boy.

Last week, a vacant beach.

The sergeant said they

couldn’t locate your

plane.

Memories masqueraded.

Pain strapped my chest.

a whisper heard, but no one around.

Uncertainty the lone, vital sign

Our love stolen by the

innocent sky.

At night I watch the planes fly over

the beach

where we met.

Your dusk fallen eyes still hold me.

You were my pilot.

love poems
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About the Creator

Andrea Cladis

Andrea Cladis, MFA is an author, poet, English Professor at Columbia College, spunky fitness professional, & freelance writing consultant/editor. Check out her books, speaking events, and publications on her website - www.tanagerwriting.com

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