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Jacó

11 Jan

The turquoise waves lap at the shore like artificially-flavored tropical punch

As their salty scent wafts on the sloppy wet breeze,

Clinging to my red burnt skin like a second layer of sweat.

 

The sand is black and gritty like ash,

The sun is a ball of hot happy light,

Yellow as the yoke of a hard-boiled egg.

Try as I might, I can’t thwart the grin that tugs at the corner of my mouth.

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Posted by on January 11, 2010 in Writing

 

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