Wasn't much a dance, that sand
remember how you'd swayed, and planned;
That look upon your eyes, and speech;
the way those songs still haunt; that beach.
So sometimes when I'm passing by
I pause and think. Sometimes I try
Recall those dreams, your slender waist,
your dark eyes there. And, just in case,
You didn't know or didn't care
I pass there now and then, impaired.
Author notes
An old one. A dream perhaps. I'm not big with labels, but I think the title fits.
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