Flipflops In the Sand
Walk with me
don’t say a word
walk in these footprints
until you feel
my wobbly heartbeat
Flip flop tracks in the sand
I see yours ahead, nearly washed away
I am just a bit late
Hold my empty hand
these fingers that search for your face
in the mist of nightdreams
This fraying thread that joins
such a poignant catastrophe
glimmers and shivers
flickers and fades with anticipation
that possibly
someday may come
My needs are slight
your offerings less
Days become formless
nights without substance
. . . washing away.
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