She stands on her porch as her long brown hair follows behind.
The wind carresses her face.
Outlining her features.
She's wearing a peach shirt.
cut to her curves.
The wind carresses her soul.
Her bossom pronounced,
her contentment shines through.
Breathing the sea blown air,
as the oil rig blows its horn.
I'm Here!
I'm Here!
She wishes it was him.
Her dreams so real
so vivid
so clear.
POP!!!!
THERE, HE IS NOT.
He remains in her heart,
as she waits for him to play his part.
Michelle Poet
April 4, 2001