YOU ARE READING

Poetry

Your voice is the paint I take to the sky, splattering it all over, so they can all know you're nigh.

Beach Babe

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by RedBirdWrites

by RedBirdWrites

And to the waters I run when all they do is swim in me -

a dream not yet conceived is in those horseshoe-crab-rocking seas.

I strip my dress away from me -

a nude swim,

Giving my body back to the nature that saw me as God cast it aside to make

me.