You thought I'd been drinking,
but I don't recall alcohol,
just sky, sand, fucking you,
drunk on sun.
Drifting through the heat haze,
white-hot, your breath.
My seared skin soothed by your soft touch.
You; warm, laughing laughing.
Sandy smooth, salted wounds
healing.
Gentle fingers trace down one side
& my heart washing away with the tide.
A kind of rush;
the sound of the waves &
the sweet music you make
bounded in my seashell.
If I raise it up to my ear
I can hear
you.
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Author:
rebmasters (
Offline) - Published: April 22nd, 2021 10:20
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 39
Offline)
Comments2
its what beaches were made for .......... certainly & surely enjoyed by me 🙂
Indeed! Thank you
immersive, to say the least
heated: pulsation, within words of magnetic attraction!
a good read, (and thanks for inspiring my little scribbled reply)..
'ahem - well dear poet, this reads
as one hell of a pulsating nightmare
you've dreamed - as idyllic scenes of poetry
in reality, the Sand in our feelings
trespass into every nut and cranny
insuring, we seldom get a chance
to accumulate, such pristine memories
of unscathed: bliss...'
I love that: 'the sand in our feelings' - a recurring theme in my poems I think. I'm glad for inspiring the continual flow of words. Although they may be poor tools sometimes, they remain tiny acts of rebellion against the meaninglessness of existence & sometimes...help us connect
Amen!
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