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The Panhandle State
May 20, 2014
We forged a fantasy under a cloudy sky
nestled in beach blankets and drying clothes.
In your old pickup truck, we fell
(head first, no cushions or padding)
in the sweetest sort of young love.
I’d stay with you until the moon
shrivels and falls out of our cloudy sky.
We’ll stay like this infinitely
in our forged fantasy.
Let’s ride through mud and swamps
and the waves of shark infested beaches.
We’ll have our surfboards and blankets
and only enough money to survive.
I’ll sleep on your chest, under any sky,
in our forged fantasy.
© Kim B., Marblehead, MA
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