People

Her Summer

Not a murmured breeze rustled leaves on the great palm above her lasciviousness.
Air dank in tequila and orange on her breath, exhaled from the long deep glow on the end of her fag.

She motioned small circles above herself toward the sun scorching her not so baby soft skin; years of sun-beds and liposuction fold in small ringlets over the top of her stretched pink side tied, bikini bottom.

‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ her lips mouth to the clear skies of siesta, and
glistening forms on sandy patches who won’t notice waves that don’t crash.

Her eyes glaze, and quiver, half shut in anticipation of what the heated hours ahead may deliver her alcohol soured blood.
She closes her mind to the images, in a shake of her head, and grips the side of the fluffy ‘Minnie Mouse’ towel with a significant sigh.

She sits, applies sunscreen (you know the fancy one that comes out in a fine misty spray?) too near her face, behind larger-than-average-sunglasses.
They, languid on white towels, crane
in her direction,
and resume satiated dormancy under colourful hats –
there is nothing much of interest to see.

She blinks the mirage from her eyes as the sting deepens,
burns through her flesh, her mind, into her heart.
And she closes them.
‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ she gestures at the setting sun wrestling a sexy floral beach-cover-up over her hot body;
Tonight, as all nights, she will sleep in a fever.

IW

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Am I The Shore? – Oceans five –

Am I the shore? Place to rest in sun
’til waters reflect.
I know it is not what I am
to you, but many.

Am I for the wandering?
Hide here in time-
Tear up on cliffs, let go, fall
deep in water.
With salty wounds shelter staring,
in a cave, between fires silhouette.
Morning comforts rise across an ocean;
Find fortune on those shores.

Sail in, out, and smile goodbye,
Our island fruit in parlour – stay strong
In heart and soul labours.

Only you return, not to rest,

to climb and feast.

~IW~

Victim of Circumstance

I could tell in few words
how living takes hold, and death curses existence.
I could tell in melody of aching empty.
I can convey feelings,
as sun brings her morning breath,
as star dreams in time –
all this sensed with a word.

but, I cannot change fate,
make sense of where sense is not made
Knowing this, feeling, helpless
in understanding all is how it births and dies for purpose –
I cannot bring the why to front
The sight and senselessness of life stopped short.

even in knowing short lives matter most and touch and pull
with unscathed beauty,
I still can’t tell of how I feel when it seems the sun settled too soon.

Death makes this sacrifice so we live – why I and not you?
This world was not for such innocence.
Does this make the living unworthy of death?

IW