below love’s torch drip dreams
of a stranger’s
hands,
as forever’s child exploring
the feathers brushed
against her,
it was touch from cute
kid who lived a
ghost town
over,
out at sea, writhing outlines
of our past, spilled
milk on sand,
and in a blink, beauty’s
washed from
scene,
my whisper waves
you back
to sea,
just driftwood
on a beach.
Grumpy Gorman
igram: https://www.instagram.com/grumpygorman/?hl=en
