POEM 102

*It was the summer of ‘42,
her hair fell to her back,
streaked with sun light
and scented with salty air.
As her tanned toes
wiggled in the sand,
she turned and smiled-
a brown eyed, freckled smile,
pulling me
into a sea shell spiraling summer;
into a warm ocean’s kiss.

Aztec Warrior 12.14.15