Blind Date
I hate beach sun,
on Whitsun leave
where fun means skin,
to chagrin, fries.
Instead, I want shade and raided libraries.
What can you say
when midday in
Biscay is cold
as cuckold love.
And heaven is sharkskin tan in blowtorch cove.
Who knew too late the date was fate?
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Welcome and thanks for dropping in. I'll pop by yours by and by.
This blog was inspired by First 50 words where you freewrite from a single word prompt. I use random words or images to create flash fiction in formats ranging from twitter postcards to short short stories.