PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The sand, as if on fire, glows and heats
our pruned feet. You ask me lazily to bury
your toes in its warmth as you flop onto
your perfectly tanned stomach, the green blanket
billowing up slightly at the edges and just barely
catching the day's
beautiful breeze as it blows by,
sifting sand and
gusting past the gulls begging
for scraps of anything to be spared,
food, water, or attention.

I nestle my knees into dips in the sand and began
scooping and molding the fine grains to your glittering
feet still moist with drops of salty brine and small flecks
of deep green kelp and bubbles from, our favourite, sea grapes.
When I finish and admire my handy work
until it is out of fashion and I have confidence that the
steady rise and fall of your slightly pinked back means
you've drifted off, I place myself beside you and watch
that beautiful breeze play with each of your strawberry
locks and your blond lashes twitch ever so lightly and
just barely graze your heavily freckled skin.

My eye is caught by that marble covered notebook.
The place I know you keep all your secrets.
I can only imagine what emotion its pages must hold, what
chaos you keep pent up within the college ruled lines and crinkled paper.
And I don't know why but I'm reaching out, fingers gliding, just barely
gliding, over the worn exterior.
And I don't know why but I'm sitting up right, clutching your secrets
like they're the only things left.
And I don't know why but I'm flipping through your feelings until
my eyes are drawn to a name thats nothing but my own.
And I'm reading.

There's a sudden shift in the world now as a lonely cloud in
the once pristine blue sky is shifting in front of the brilliant
sun and that beautiful breeze feels more chilled than it did before.

It's upsetting the gulls by my feet and they're crying out for me to help
them but I'm to absorbed in your secrets to care.
But maybe its not themselves they wanted me to help,

because theres a strong tug on the front of your secrets and they're
ripped from my shaking hands by their rightful owner.
Your hand meets my burnt cheek and now its stinging even more
but not as much as my spirit is when I hear you scream the awful things
you think of me, the things that I should be used to hearing by now.
The cloud that had been blocking the sun is gone as swiftly as it came
as you step away from me and allow the streaming sunlight to bathe me again,
but not before I'm knocked roughly off balance and fall, the green blanket
billowing up slightly at the edges and just barely catching the day's
beautiful breeze as it blows by,
sifting sand and
gusting past the gulls begging
for scraps of anything to be spared,
food, water, or attention.