Santa Monica

sea foam painted sea glass
sunk into the sockets of his face,
Santa Monica sunshine
glazing summer skin

cerulean skies, limoncello light,
ignite tie-dyed waves,
come crashing into tanned legs
tangled with mine
trapeze twirling limbs
our breath born into hymns

hands deep in searing sand
clamouring for cool
in the harbour heat
sipping sex on the beach
on the beach towels,
spilled on skin, melting in mouths
the Pier caked in Pacific salt
heavy in the air-

it tasted like him

crank of the carousel,
carnival aria,
blurring sun drunk eyes,
his candy floss lips
against mine,
round and round
into Santa Monica

fairy lights of the ferris wheel
take me home
damp white cotton sheets
damp white cotton
between my legs
his weight
anchors me
fingers grip his hip
salt above his lip
tangled in his sea swept hair
tongues tasting sweet summer sweat

“when I’m fucked up that’s the real me…”
bass booming
shaking the bed
cannabis zephyr
in post-coital air
his sea foam sea glass


by Santa Monica stars.

[Original Work, belongs to me, the author: K.E.H. Written: March 2016 in Manchester, England.]


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