Death.
She watches us.
We march.
We see her take those around us.
I know you, I think.
But she won't take me,
no matter how much I watch her,
not yet.
Maybe she'll take me in the
next march.
In another lap.
Another laugh.
I'm drowning in
grayness, in clouds.
In the people that watch
their eyes wide.
She pauses to look again,
make her mocking acts
of not coming for me.
We march.

I’m lying on a beach, sun-punched subconscious
not too hot as a briny breeze still blows ashore,
but warm and melted onto the ground
like candle wax spilled over

nearby recumbent girls, unmoving as statues,
**** Aphrodites raised of sand and sea foam
splay across loose opened chitons
unfurling scents of oils and lotions,
awaiting their animation from kisses of salt mist
or ocean tide come in too close

they’d vanish by next glance
lost in minutes or hours passed
the impressions they’d left filled with glistening sparkles,
constellations of miniature stars fusing
then extinguishing by pairs to gray flatness

ascendant on gulls' laughter, wind-stretched,
entangled among broken waves
in an endless silk scarf god once made
but left behind in his dream at dawn
when light then carved each grain its shape -
this beach for me to sleep on

the silhouette cast from the sun light
  
there is a  tease of peekaboo played thru  eyelets

a taste of yellow to a crispy white cotton
revealing an opened back and naked shoulders

a memory and a time
Missed
this is the smile that comes to my eyes
cast from a simple Sundress .