…
My sun-kissed skin
Morphs into a shade of pink
Like the inside of your lip.
A splatter of freckles form
Like I’ve been poked by a million stars
Singed at the edges
But just a bit.
I linger in the clouds
As I caress the sand beneath my
Unpainted toes...
“Who’s up there, do you think?”
I wonder aloud to you
As you doze near my shoulder.
“Not you,” you whisper,
“Not yet.”
A tender kiss on the arm
Soothes my sizzling skin
And you turn away
To drift back to your dreams.
About the Creator
Darin Leigh
Just the ramblings of an artist in her 20s. I write a lot of unplanned poetry. I hope you enjoy
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Disarmament
They say there's no atheism in the foxhole. While I wasn't currently neck-deep in a river of soft sediment, I was still praying to whoever would listen. Why am I doing this again? I would ponder while staring at the device that in no less than a minute could be my undoing. I scanned each and every variable panel and commonplace button as I watched the bright red L.E.D ticker countdown. No wires to cut, no code to put in, there was only one way to stop this infernal machine, and that incurred perfect timing.
By James U. Rizzi7 days ago in Fiction
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