There's a
certain vibrancy,
radiating from a feet's
distance
purple paint shot
popsicle, drenched
fingers propping the
stick—and you were
staring as it slowly
overruns your hands;
I wanted to taste
and lick the meltdown
off your hands
maybe it'll help
you concentrate
YOU ARE READING
Albeit flawed,
PoetryI was basking under the sun-the waves muffle the sound of my breathing; and I bury myself with cautionary confidence in the sand and with it the memory of your four faces. How can something lethal be life-restorative?
