The water bled color in its mimic of the city.
The shore, cold-green-in-black, tickled
waves into a song of retreat.
Smells of electricity pop-flashing in my fingers
running through your hair.
The silence, sharp, poignant and pointed
Lacking punctuality as the second hand of my watch explodes through the stars. You lean forward and back, pulling away and crashing back - a wave upon my shore.
Our hands crawl together to melt in the friction of our hearts, and they pour into the sand, building our delta to the sea.
There's a taste of wine, the breeze flushing my skin, and the small vibration of my voice in your head.
"I love you," I said, "In the tumultuous silence, under an eccentric moonlight - I love you - in the star bursting grip of the sea, and in the wake of your embrace."
A choir of crickets fades, and there is only you, and me, and the sea.
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 6:35 PM UTC
The water bled color in its mimic of the city.
The shore, cold-green-in-black, tickled
waves into a song of retreat.
Smells of electricity pop-flashing in my fingers
running through your hair.
The silence, sharp, poignant and pointed
Lacking punctuality as the second hand of my watch explodes through the stars. You lean forward and back, pulling away and crashing back - a wave upon my shore.
Our hands crawl together to melt in the friction of our hearts, and they pour into the sand, building our delta to the sea.
There's a taste of wine, the breeze flushing my skin, and the small vibration of my voice in your head.
"I love you," I said, "In the tumultuous silence, under an eccentric moonlight - I love you - in the star bursting grip of the sea, and in the wake of your embrace."
A choir of crickets fades, and there is only you, and me, and the sea.
Of a vacation not yet taken
Request permission to use this poem