Salt and Seashells


Sea salt made a fine layer of dust on your skin

when the cresting waves alternatingly

pushedand pulled your body

with the readiness of a lover. I stood

on the shore, toes gently lapped

by the aftermath to

the small violences you refused to shy away from

and daydreamed about your voice against my skin.

I called out to you, then,

and culled the seashells from my fist to select

the one best suited for your hand.

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S74rw4rd's picture

Classically brief, this poem

Classically brief, this poem made me feel I was write there, like eavesdropping, to overhear the conversation it conveys and the action its presents.  This is another beautiful demonstration of your obviously weoo refined talent.  I sure am glad to see your poems appearing here.  Each one is a spectacular reading event.

Starward in process of becoming J-Called