bee
panic buzzing, trapped in a bottle
afternoon skies,the colour of chalk
sunburned feet
sand clinging to sweat
i'd shower except i like the smell and taste of salt
a small fire...later you'll smell like smoke
all loose and lovely beneath a sweatshirt
a cool fog creeps and finds us
..later everything ..all that is and perhaps not
coalescing
coming alive
beneath a single moon.