04-08-2015, 11:21 AM
Sands Sans BBQ
Shoes perched on the seawall,
we drop just short of the tide's tongue.
I back into you, fit between your thighs,
feel your arms close. Four eyes focus
on the fuzzy line where grey meets green.
We breath: salt, baked seaweed, gulls.
I turn with my heart in my mouth,
thought drained through the sand.
You kiss me with your heart on your tongue;
I swallow it whole, the conch whispers
of joy and now.
Shoes perched on the seawall,
we drop just short of the tide's tongue.
I back into you, fit between your thighs,
feel your arms close. Four eyes focus
on the fuzzy line where grey meets green.
We breath: salt, baked seaweed, gulls.
I turn with my heart in my mouth,
thought drained through the sand.
You kiss me with your heart on your tongue;
I swallow it whole, the conch whispers
of joy and now.
billy wrote:welcome to the site. make it your own, wear it like a well loved slipper and wear it out. ella pleads:please click forum titles for posting guidelines, important threads. New poet? Try Poetic DevicesandWard's Tips