I stood there
so did he
black water rippling, trees ghost-sided
all dusted white by soft light blast
sand still warm
on the tide’s retreat
He said
Look what I can do
baring himself to summer’s black eye
golden arches flying
reaching
straining
all the thrust of modest rockets
laughing, splashing my toes
Pissing on the moon
and more adventures
before the sun comes up
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment