Her oceans cry
has the lisp of the waves
the tips of the salt
and the starch of her hair
Those blonde whisps
Tangled and so secret
The mystery of her shape
is like the trickle of night
Silent fickle and barely seen
Tripping silently on dunes
Daring waves and water
with her naked skin
and a bright turqoise scarf
in her hands solid and gentle
her oceans cry
and bend to meet her
and hold her and smother her
Whitewash deletes sound and
breath
Her oceans cry
like lost footsteps in sand
carried away by morning.
A collection of poems and musings by a rookie poet and constant dreamer - J.O.S.H
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