Her Shore
Trespassing on the banks
of a private lake
the sun pummels me
into the muck
the smell of dead fish
somewhere
nowhere near
she is sweet
and I think what she would look like
here
her tan face beaming
her brown eyes
growing in the light
she is so sweet
when we are alone.
I am her secret.
I am
A secret.
Small waves lap the sand at my feet
weak
timid waves
meek from their distance traveled
with no wind to guide them
I think about what it means
to be a secret
if nobody knows me
I might not be true
might not be real.
The shore’s band
wraps further out
beyond the hanging limbs
of bloated trees
I shouldn’t be here.
Concerned residents are starting
to wonder,
“What are you doing here?”
