The ocean breeze enveloped you
And captured your sweet perfume,
Taking its new found lover by her hand,
It danced her through the dunes.
Your kisses were soft and secretive,
Like whispers in the night,
Seductive little tales
Told by pale moonlight.
Even your shadow was beautiful
As it was cast upon the shifting sands,
Clad in jewelry gifted from the sea,
Forged by Neptune's hands.
Like glitter sprinkled from the heavens,
The stars were shimmering brightly in the sky.
Angling for just a glimpse from you,
And spend but a moment in your eyes.
I wrapped my arms around you
And pulled you close to me,
Where in my hope of hopes,
You'll forever be.
About the Creator
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More stories from Jimmy Wilson and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Path We Choose
It was late in the day and Donald 'Donnie Boy' Nelson was in a particularly good mood as he walked down a well-worn path through the woods. And why wouldn't he be? His drug business was booming and in fact he had just picked up three new customers at Reggie's, his favorite bar. To top it off, a patron who had obviously drank more than his share of liquor, bought a round of tequila shots for everyone. Donald didn't particularly care for tequila, but a free shot is a free shot. He had in fact intended on thanking the guy, maybe even acquiring a new customer out of the interaction, but he had disappeared shortly after buying the drinks. Probably passed out in the back of a cab by now. Donald shook his head and laughed, man what a day. Then again, his luck had been on the upswing since about five years ago when he beat a murder rap. A young kid, Steve something or another, that he had sold fentanyl-laced pills to had overdosed and died. Everyone knew he was the dealer responsible but with the help of a lawyer who was even shadier than he was and an easily bought cop who knew how to make evidence 'disappear', Donald had walked away scot-free. Life was good.
By Jimmy Wilson3 years ago in Criminal
The Reluctant Reporter
"You can't send me!" "There is no-one else. It's you or no-one, and that is not an option." Ameera looked at the fat paunch and florid face of her boss, a man who lived for the story and the kudos it brought him but who rarely gave consideration to the people behind the drama. When had he become so hard? She reckoned that by the end of the year, he'd be dead, collapsed from a heart attack and she struggled to conjure any sympathy in that moment and instantly felt ashamed at displaying the same lack of compassion that he had.
By Rachel Deeming7 days ago in Fiction
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