Leo Lutero
-
On a shore
It is dark
underneath the technicolor hues
of the flashing lights that desire
had dropped on tall, metal poles
-
The sand trying to pass through
the hardened skin on our feet and
the salted air, filling our lungs
while the sound of bodies
are drowned by the crashing water of the sea.
-
In the darkness, the sound is like a faucet kept open.
Water overflowing, brushing and covering
the path like silk. Cooling and warming, bobbing.
Hand in hand, again and again.
***
The short two-week break before my summer college term was a wonderful time. A few more weeks of school and I’ll have another two weeks to seize. I miss posting in this blog.
