cuts on the skin on the back of my hand
from wading through the high grass in which I now stand
walking through, I feel the eyes on the back of my neck
as I wade through the grass along this sunken shipwreck
feed me energy, and feed me emotion
give me a gesture, or a gentle motion
with churning waves and boiled sun,
will you dare to run?
the circle is forever
as I stare down the pulsing sun.
cuts on the skin on the skin above the back of my hand
as I'm wading through the high grass in which you now stand
dead leaves are curled so gently in the palm of your hand
melt me into glass when we are walking through the sand.
YOU ARE READING
sat by the ocean
Poetryphotos are not mine!!! caution: chapter two has an image of a real animal skull. just in case anybody would be uncomfy! (continued onto Laying By The Ocean)
