Atlantic Again

_
Cars speed along boxed shanties against the eastern shoreline, mocking the abandoned concrete channels during the day. As the sun sets on the city, the American waste awakens to the roar of passers-by. 
It's crisp chip-tunes resound brightly, signaling the bounty of glowing cash and coin.
It's faded courtesans of the boardwalk seduce denizens and vagrants alike, and the elderly languish to the promise of everlasting life.

The lovers met here perennially, the beauty of blight coloring their warmth for each other, a magnificent, waning backdrop to their summer dances by the sea.
Take me to the museum,  she would say, just past Rider's Row.
He smiles, and they go. Together, they awed at the relics of older times, of storied remnants and handicraft.
A phosphorescent pall covered the streets, and this misfit edge of the world exhaled softly against the ocean tide.

But cities wear down.
The dinghys perish, the ferries grow defunct, the neon runs dry from the restaurant lights. At last, even the bars desiccate.
Love could not survive the little deaths of every day. When the beach grew cold, so did they.
Slowly, the touch drained from their lips, and when the time came to face themselves,
there were no choices left.
The tide dove into futures unknown, and the sun slipped quietly into the open sea.


But how we held each other through eternal youth!
Within the empires of our hearts, we will rewind to the yesterdays we wanted together.
And if we could only live forever,
we would choose the lifetimes spent here.