Ink stained pouch

Gulls hushed to rest by the low tide as the sun roots for the sidelines,

shadows stewing underneath old salt rocks escape to the commitment of the night trade,

Wetting where pretending darlings conceal an entry to anticipating signs,

Punctured seeds culled from an open sickle neck,

Dry sucked pears relax sliced arks that throb,

Pants search, wetted fingers snake

Hot material folds, hooded eyes drawback from the principal portion of spring,

Frozen yogurt van alarms orchestrate with the radio's evening time cradlesongs,

Mango season has circled back around and a ladybird ruminates on the shoulder of a corporate Shirt,

Furthermore, ink blue-stained pockets watch and pen, releasing a similar food again and again,

Like being cudgeled to death with an unpolished spoon,

You persuade yourself the sluggishness holds you, instead of your mom's cotton socks.