Gordon's Choice
In the hands of an ice-cold current to a depth unknown and couldn’t remember swimming so far from the shore. I hero worshipped Mark Spitz (remember him?). I was eight years of age. Too young. I struggled to the surface once more for the dirty water to cover my eyes, turning the bluest of skies into the darkest shade of dying alone.
Still.
Grabbed by the softest of hands… breath in my lungs, I was carried to shore, half blind, on the hip a two-piece bikini.
“Silly thing… the tide was going out!”
Oh, what became of you, my angel?
Still.
Grabbed by the softest of hands… breath in my lungs, I was carried to shore, half blind, on the hip a two-piece bikini.
“Silly thing… the tide was going out!”
Oh, what became of you, my angel?
