The beach

Morning smiles coyly,

All dusted in camomile.

Syrup soaked pineapple,

Straight from the can.

Topped off in icing,

A sweet lemon Rothko.

Under it all,

The sea meets the sand. 

Evening comes feverish,

Warm, sour mandarin,

Shadows curl up in the 

Lap of the land.

A languorous lover,

who beckons us quietly.

Whilst under it all,

The sea meets the sand.

Night time rolls heavy,

A rich purple nicotine,

Staining the fingers,

Of Erebus' hands.

An outlaw, it hangs,

From celestial gallows.

And under it all,

The sea meets the sand.

copyright Niall Hollaert © 2020 all rights reserved