rebmasters

drunk on sun

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.

Comments2

  • Neville


    its what beaches were made for .......... certainly & surely enjoyed by me 🙂

    • rebmasters

      Indeed! Thank you

    • L. B. Mek

      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...'

      • rebmasters

        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

        • L. B. Mek

          Amen!



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