The Cave of Hypnos: Early Poems
Tide
You move
like a winter tide
rolling on a belly
of sand.
Swirling over me,
fondling
the broken shells
of my sighs.
Lick my skin
with salt
and silt
before I
die.
Copyright © 2012 by Charles W. Bailey, Jr.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License.