Requiem of the Rising Sun: April 3

Dead, dying, deadest All security is broken. Warm sand wrapped in seaweed Your smiling face Goose bumps in hard, playful waves, washed by Laughing foam, watched by a Dancing sun Drips of ice cream trickled down sandy arms As flip-flopped feet swerve Shelob Sleeping in her glittering lair, Sung to sleep by the lullaby of semi, mosquitoes, traffic, and waves. Slap, slap, roar. Slap, slap, roar. Slap, slap… ROAR. Silence.