below love’s torch drip the gauzy
dreams you wove while
helpless in strange
hands,
as forever’s child exploring
the feather brushed
against her,
it was touch from that
cute kid who lived
a ghost town
over,
out at sea, writhing
outlines of our foreign
bodies rest spilled
milk on sand,
and in a blink, beauty’s
washed from our
scenery,
and whispered memories
wave you back
to sea,
++++
just driftwood
on a beach.
Wistful Beachcomber
igram: https://www.instagram.com/grumpygorman/?hl=en
