His Skin Tasted of the Ocean

His dark hair felt like a warm summer breeze.

Fingers ran though it. I begged time to freeze.

His skin, I knew, tasted of the ocean: 

Of salt, and sun, and some odd emotion. 

His eyes had a sparkle, a worn out cliché.

A weight in his hands, it asked me to stay.

His breath had been heavy and heartbeat fast.

I stayed in his bed willing the morning to last, 

But only too soon the morning was past.