"There is no fire that comes from water"
He said as I surveyed his daughter
"And any man who drinks is lost"
Her dress was sheer; her hair was tossed

Cool jazz wandered through the patio as we sat under the propane heat tanks
The Pacific was at least half a mile away but you could taste it
I floated the idea of a trip down Highway One with the top down
She said, "Why don't we just go back to your place and watch me?"
"Watch me 'what'?" was the question I wasn't supposed to ask
But I did and she did and we did and there you go

"So, has your old man always been a preacher?" I asked over breakfast
"I imagine he was born a sinner"
What a mouth on this one

The seaside cliffs of California
Reminded Van of Caledonia
And yet he lost his tethered soul
To the harpy shemale rock and roll

We played Sweet Thing as things got sweet
And danced to Domino up on our feet
We drank some more and mourned his loss
As Madame George and gloves got tossed

She didn't really care for Van Morrison as much as I did and I didn't mind
Ruined by Moondance playing in the supermarket one too many times
It's happened to better women
But as Van's guitar was gently strumming
I thanked the Lord for the second coming

Later we bought some more wine and wandered out into trails overlooking the sea
On the other side of Pebble Beach
Where rich men and movers and shakers shook silently over long iron shots
Before donating a Titleist to Poseidon with a club slammed to the ground versus a curse
Or perhaps with both
Or something worse

Hating a game they told their wives
They loved sincerely and with their lives
And would not be the same without
As trophy wives looked on with doubt

"Golf is a pretty game but I don't have any hand / eye coordination"
"Catch this," I said as I threw her underpants at her
It was a good toss, underhand and at just the right angle
But she muffed it and I realized she was right

There are nights along the ocean shore when you can let the lapping sea waves into your dreams
Their beckoning becomes the monologue of the dead as they try to figure out
Just what you meant to them when they were here
The undertow of the one-way conversation pulls your heart out to sea
As you try to communicate with halting hand signals and leg twitches
That they just misunderstood your intentions and your wishes
You'd say it in words and make them see
But each time you try to speak
It feels like taking in a deep breath that won't let you exhale
You might suffocate from this if you don't wake up
It's like drowning on dry land

I drove her back to her father's place
We shared a somewhat tense embrace
As he was looking from the balcony
Trying to see what she saw in me

I tried to see the same myself
And found I was confused as well
An empty page where she'd signed her name
A tabula rasa in a gilded frame

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