Away from piercing prying eyes <br />of being good, of sounding wise. <br />Loose grains of sand glide aimlessly <br />as though to lightly bury me. <br /> <br />The sun forbids a candid stare, <br />instead persuades to look elsewhere. <br />To rest upon bright lights that glimmer, <br />glittering on every swimmer. <br /> <br />Eager shadows reach to trace, <br />massage and cream my sun kissed face. <br />White satin lips show yellow throats, collectively <br />the Frangipani fragrance hovers free. <br /> <br />While far away words, ordinary, <br />working day and cautionary, <br />neatly rest upon a desk at home. <br />Alongside bulky keys and business phone. <br /> <br />A crimson sky ends my first day, <br />tide’s race to smooth where I had lay. <br />And sleep arrives with fickle dreams <br />of love, romance, erotic screams. <br /> <br />Its all so perfect so unreal, <br />the chuckle in a teenage squeal. <br />And yet beneath the pleasantness, <br />there is one urge I must confess. <br /> <br />One secret yearning to confide, <br />I would prefer you by my side. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />Copyright ©Roan Mar 2009 <br /><br />Ann Beard<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/far-away-34/
