Untitled

Another old tidbit. A boy once thought I wrote this about him. This isn't about a boy:

Shingles.
Stockings caught on the rough squares.
A run here, a run there.

I hear you.

Rested on the crest of the shingled wave.
Sighed and smiled to those watching.
Silvery and silent, they smiled back.

I hear you.
I always hear you.

Red and heady.
We sipped delicately.
Sloshed sweetly.
Wild as the vines.

I see you.
Right through you.

A third journey, then the sand.
Dancing feet demanding their love.
The grains filled my shoes.
Overflowed.
Spilled across the floor when I kicked them off.

I feel you.
Every inch.

Lo-fi.
Hum diddy dum.
Lo-fi.
We danced. Barefoot and unapologetically.
Let me show you how hips feel about lo-fi.

Dive in.
I flow right down to the sea.