Fresh Bread at the Beach
Sand tiptoes close to cold water,
Inching away from my buried
Feet; two little fresh loaves of bread.
When the minature rocks get near,
The lapping waves kiss them first.
The sound is serine like dew
Welling up inside rain gutters.
Each lap begs my eyes to shut
So I can feel the beating sun
Slowing down time to cook me.
raypool
Wed 19th Jul 2017 16:50
You've managed to captivate me with this poem Michaela. There is a boldness in where you go to describe the normal things of life , likening feet to bread eg. Every line has a potential to draw us in.
You'll soon have Harlow bang to rights !
Ray x