wet grains of crumbling sand fall down the towel shelter
and land on my child cheek
like a slow motion rock slide.
sun squints down into the shelter keeping my brown cheek warm,
as the salt dries in my hair.
Consider this the product of too many hours in front of a computer.
But, then...you're here now, are we the same?
Posted on Tuesday, 23 February 2010
wet grains of crumbling sand fall down the towel shelter
and land on my child cheek
like a slow motion rock slide.
sun squints down into the shelter keeping my brown cheek warm,
as the salt dries in my hair.
Notes