in between the dove gray walls of brighton and wind whipped by the atlantic sea,
there’s a little row of windows with sparkling jewelry.
its a five minutes walk from the carousel that sits slightly stirring on the beach,
a sea salt collecting antiquity.
and at night it is incandescent,
lightly lit by the pier bulbs glowing primrose in the evening .
you can find it there on that street, a cobbled 90 degrees.
the empty velvet pocket, void of it’s precious carbon allotrope,
tells a true love story.
where a boy spent his savings
on a thin gold band
and the brightest diamond engagement ring.
therein lies the fairy tale of sam liles and the little bukowski