Here on the pale beach, in the darkness; <br />With the full moon just to rise; <br />They sit alone, and look over the sea, <br />Or into each other's eyes. . . <br /> <br />She pokes her parasol into the sleepy sand, <br />Or sifts the lazy whiteness through her hand. <br /> <br />'A lovely night,' he says, 'the moon, <br />Comes up for you and me. <br />Just like a blind old spotlight there, <br />Fizzing across the sea!' <br /> <br />She pays no heed, nor even turns her head: <br />He slides his arm around her waist instead. <br /> <br />'Why don't we do a sketch together-- <br />Those songs you sing are swell. <br />Where did you get them, anyway? <br />They suit you awfully well.' <br /> <br />She will not turn to him--will not resist. <br />Impassive, she submits to being kissed. <br /> <br />'My husband wrote all four of them. <br />You know,--my husband drowned. <br />He was always sickly, soon depressed. . .' <br />But still she hears the sound <br /> <br />Of a stateroom door shut hard, and footsteps going <br />Swiftly and steadily, and the dark sea flowing. <br /> <br />She hears the dark sea flowing, and sees his eyes <br />Hollow with disenchantment, sick surprise,-- <br /> <br />And hate of her whom he had loved too well. . . <br />She lowers her eyes, demurely prods a shell. <br /> <br />'Yes. We might do an act together. <br />That would be very nice.' <br />He kisses her passionately, and thinks <br />She's carnal, but cold as ice.<br /><br />Conrad Potter Aiken<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/turns-and-movies-zudora-2/
