Fireworks

He'd lay barefoot in the sand breathing the moist ocean air.  There are the clouds.
He'd bask in the sun as the warmth trickled along his stomach.  There are the families.
He'd time his pulse with the waves, as the breeze chilled his scolded stomach.  The many boats aligned.
The Sun prepares for its nightly cryogenic swim, he'd gaze with her as it sailed over the edge.
She never liked the smoke.
It conducted so finely and alas, dwindled its last flame, he clapped.  She clapped.
He'd scrawl in the sand commemorating the occasion.  There is the wind.
She'd thank him and say that she'd had enough.
He'd point to the many families staring above.
She'd point ahead to the many boats aligned.
He'd point above, but she never liked the smoke.