Vintage Shore


A whirl of summer choreographing my heartbeat. The lines zigzagging from thrift stores to my wrinkled fingertips. The music of the salt breeze. The pushed mounds of sand of a day of beach travelers. The sweep of miniature floral cotton around my calves. The shadows of runaway locks of hair across my double frames. The blue of my heart beating for a boy gripping a silver kite. The dip of a feathered flight. The mango and chili smiling on my tongue. The dwelling reflection of the sky in my murky watered eyes. The classic freedom of breathing in a life of a former thrifted dress owner. The moan of the setting sun.


Mute Style

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s