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.
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