Treasure Island

Bull Hawking


heading for shade


Heading for that shrinking
Spot of shade
where we can sit
Where the slowing breeze
Meets our rising pulse
Where its gentle hand
Moves more than hair or leaves
Where scorching sun is held
From milking moisture from our skin
We search each other's lips
A flame to quell and feel our flesh
Desire to swell
Resist fufillment
Dare not consume
For future....future
We'll resume

Submitted: Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, August 28, 2013

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