Night Swimming.

Night Swimming.
Lee.

The moonlit dunes begged for company which the couple of beachcombers obliged. Their fire crackled and snapped in the cooling air, the sea breeze spiralling it’s smoky incense up, up and away, appeasing the Moon God. 

“Shall we,” he offered, pointing towards the sea. “Fancy a dip?”
“You serious? What about sharks? They are nocturnal feeders, aren’t they,” she uneasily asked.
He thumbed over his shoulder towards the edge of the city they’d escaped from for the evening. “It’s those sharks you should fear…those soul-sucking vampires behind expensive doors and twitching curtains. It is they who thirst for blood. It is they who hate who we are. I’ll take my chances out there,” he nodded at the sea. 
The theme from Jaws haunted and possessed her thinking. “Another time, maybe? It’s too cold anyway,” fear making her lie. “Can’t we just lay here for awhile and let the sea sing it’s song?”
“I’d prefer it if you sang.” He looked into her eyes and held her gaze. “You know, one of those ditties from your childhood which your mother used to sing to you. “And,” he cupped her face, “I love your accent, you know that.”
She undressed him with a lullaby. Her lilt comforting for a man who’d not known such a luxury from the day he was born to the here and now. Entranced and charmed, her voice held his attention—much like a roadside fakir selling magic—until she’d finished. She had more pull, more gravitational dominance upon him than the milky moon had upon the sea. After all, she was his moon, his sun, his morning/ mourning, noon and night; his pause for thought and smiles to himself.
Hours passed without a word spent or another note sung. This silence was her favourite song, and accompanied by waves teasing the shore, was an asylum for her sanity.
The fire had long died and now the cold was too cold. “We better go,” she said, “they’ll be expecting us.”