decisions decisions
let your hand take mineand run down to the beach
fingers trace a path across sand smudged skin
erasing pain by tender whorls
we sit
looking into the blue spirit level
as above so below
meeting equals of wind and water
sunglass covered souls
a swig of plastic water
lukewarm and technically sweet
when the air is sand and salt
we walk
maintaining the DMZ of proper conduct
very matter of fact
the ocean tugging on our free hands
like an excited kid
or elderly relative
a beach whisper tracing
our paths
sneaking out of frugal sandals
like a lifeline
Poetry by Katarina Wikholm
Read 797 times
Written on 2016-07-23 at 10:45
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