the dappled daylight
plays pat-a-cake upon
her snow-like back as
salt and water trickles down.

the rhythm of the surf
softens hardened tensions
built from months gone ill;
she needs the silken down.

her dingy yellow hair,
failing like some grecian
story inked by melville;
her play for passion’s crown.

brushing tress aside, reveals
another someone’s life un-lived.
tales of hero and heroine unreal,
bringing fleeting hope, fictive.

looking up from france,
she takes a gander, just a glance,
at the clouds as they dance
like life’s ephemeral romance.

then back to all her vanities
and the pages’ banalities.
catapulting dreary life to faire
in the time it takes to stare.

still, the waves crash,
pulling sand to sea.

© 2017 rl busséll

the morning sky