the sea pours off of me
as I drew close to her
towering and gently swaying
dreaming, with the sea
still showing on my hands,
wide open
what do you want with the sea?
her hand was hot and rough on my arm
having heard the call to prayers,
she had spread out her hands to the sky
had prostrated herself in prayer,
went back to my dreams, to the sea
- a found poem
YOU ARE READING
Eventide
Poetrya little collection of the poems and prose that stuck, the ones I can't un-memorize. written at eventide. (Cover photo taken by me, please leave it where it is)
