And sometimes I just wish I was
sitting shore-side,
a barely twenty something
bronzed surfer’s sweetest heart,
breeze bouncing salty sun-bleached locks,
bare legs balancing
sandy moleskine pages,
as I compose my palm-tree poetry.
And sometimes I just wish I was
sitting shore-side,
a barely twenty something
bronzed surfer’s sweetest heart,
breeze bouncing salty sun-bleached locks,
bare legs balancing
sandy moleskine pages,
as I compose my palm-tree poetry.