Wednesday, February 1, 2017

from p.1 on Mon., Jan. 30th

On the creaky
old board I flew
down the driveway
hitting,
feeling every crack
being hit!

and stopped by the
gravel at the end.



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She had beautiful
green eyes, the type that
remind you of the wild.

Her eyes a mossy
forest, I could get
lost in them forever.



-----



The happiness
of ice turning
into
water.



-----



The loud sound of
water on sand, sitting
back with a cup in your
hand. White foam filling
the top of the water

as they crash down.

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