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Ripples on the pond.
Beseeching.
So flat the stones,
Skimming soft.
Forgetting to touch the water.
Almost.
Not quite.
That little contact.
That sighing breath.
That little kiss.
A drift of lips.
Until it falls.
Gone.
Gone to a hidden place.
Where it sits.
Bubbles rising from growing torpor.
Lodged askew,
Without strong foundation.
Disturbed by,
Ugly tadpoles nudging,
Eyes bulging,
Stealthy creeping.
Hoping to consume.
They flit away.
Observed.
Found out.
They do not care.
Motions swallowed whole.
Emotions digested fractionally.
And they wait.
So I wait.
Full of all and nothing.
A tainted husk.
Empty.
Ashore.
Besotted by the night.
Madly out of love with you.
Motionless.
Upon one spindly shaking leg.
Thinking.
Defiant.
Then still.
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Brings back memories of carefree and happy times skimming stones lady Sheba. Xx
I was just doing that very thing at the weekend!
Its an impulsive throw back to childhood fun. Still big kids at heart. Xx