Skin Prose Poetry

Her friendship was like a needle… dancing in her eyes, a fantasy, outward she has spies, suspicious.

Telling lies she did with those saucer cups, the color sea green, as in the tide I woke, spent again and with only driftwood my companion:  some men would have cried, more delighted, tantalized by the curls of her hair, the girl’s light brown skin as expansive as the beach, briefly within reach and then gone, as if forever.  Her friendship was as real as the sunlight on the sand, and then you were banned…26D3EQZ6VU