Out on some borderline - VI

by phill doran

A rhythmic slap and slither rasps the shore
and rolls along a curved, tanned hip of sand
where branded, stranded bathers beach beneath
their tilted, striped umbrellas -- tracking light,
like flowers in full bloom; exotic sprays.
Their bodies wink a message, moist in oils,
like beacons, buoys of shipwrecked men-of-war
aground on shards of guilt, deceit and lies.

She watches children crab along far rocks
where wrack and driftwood tangle in the shale,
and thoughts to leave return, much like a tide;
a steady beat of little form which ends
in thunder, splayed in torrents, thick with foam.
Beside her, sunk in dreams, her traitor falls
and rises on the ebb and flow of sleep,
adrift beneath her shadow as she stands.

She skirts along the water's hem of lace
as pearls of perspiration track her breast;
her slanted footprints weep, dissolve to sand;
diminished sails incline on inert waves.
Where seabirds drape the sky, like open books,
a borderline exists, the world divides;
a crossroad on a journey without maps
and, taking stock, she turns to face the sea.

The lazy skies are bloated, full of day
and streaked with broken reefs of barren clouds
as she descends, accepts the lapis mouth
of azure tongues which lick her heels, her thighs.
Like lust, the waters lap, engulf her heart --
rise up, conceal her throat, absolve her eyes
'til lungs concede, inhale; resolved, all while
a rhythmic slap and slither rasps the shore.

Write A Review

Blank Verse Poetry Contest contest entry