Daisy Chains {Completed}

The Golden State

With a temperature of 98 degrees

Sandy spirals flip and flounce

Like conch shells drifting in blue tides

Yes, the top of your head is Santa Monica

To plunge my hands into that beach

Building castles atop your scalp as though I were a babe drinking in her first summer

Would be as sunny and sultry

As the undertones

Of your coral reef vocabulary

And gruff groans

Crashing like fluid walls

When I float near

I am completely lit

As you glide on air

Devoted to your heat

And sweat and smoke

Wishing I could surf through the rushing ocean tube

Your sea glass orbs and foam smile

The only traces I find

While stranded barefoot on the shore

I may be lost in in the grass sprawled across the dunes

But I smell your salt from afar and reach

For your California crazy

Waiting for the high tide to hit

When I drown in you again

Come find me on the catamaran

And next time, give me a riptide