The golden hair
trips and teases
an expressionless face
cascading down a slender back.
She lays in the sand,
the passive water
pasting her flowered dress
along the ridges and valleys
of her timid body.
The sand pulles her
deeper into itself
and the water obliges,
rushing in, rushing out.
The sea shells press,
leaving tracks
in her bare arms and legs,
as the golden sun,
neither rising not setting,
tickles the rolling clouds,
dashing them in purples and pinks.
Her blank eyes
stare to oblivion
as the blood that once blossomed
is carried away
by the tender sea.