Flame Colors

We sit on the beach and
shine with our knives.
 
She cuts purls of peel
with a silver slender slice,
 
and says words like
blade, shade, angel,
 
stripes, sweating,
and afraid.
 
I want us to curl
up together in
 
the wet sand
like melon seeds.
 
I show the sky my eyes
and let the blue touch
 
the black behind them.
This must be the way bells are made.

Front page image by  JoesSistah.

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