this poem is pressed
by the sun like a kiss to
the crook of your arm.
later, when you are
binding envelopes with twine,
signing in sea salt,
casting messages
in empty soda bottles,
think of this first love.
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 1:51 AM UTC
this poem is pressed
by the sun like a kiss to
the crook of your arm.
later, when you are
binding envelopes with twine,
signing in sea salt,
casting messages
in empty soda bottles,
think of this first love.