Young Summers
No storms stalk the turquoise sky,
white towering cloud-kites unhindered fly;
brisk breezes bear a sea salt sip
of tangy kisses on wild, wet lips.
The sneaky sand is never shy,
all defenses it defies
to nestle down against soft skin
in just the spot to cause chagrin.
Smells of pineapple, coconut,
drinking cheek to cheek in a tiki hut
to the beat of bossa nova bands-
young summers on the golden strand.
Copyright, November 2, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2014
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