across the sand
she throws a kiss, laughter beckons
collecting sand dollars in her hand
starfish drift upon your shores
of white sugar sand
with arms... that seem to reach...
a clown too, walks in velvet sand
to leave the biggest footprints, grand
your foxgloves, tall oak trees
green ferns and meadows,
a soft melody.
coffee would be lovely
a full English, it seems
the lady with the fried eggs
SW from Montreal
we jump over puddles,
fly over the moon
come visit our nudist colony
warm nights in June.
that is where I long to be
where air is gentle, soft, and free
even tho we dont ride the same bike
your words have taken me
on a poetic journey.