July
Waters creep over my feet.
Should I stand shivering
or go swim? Lose my footprint?
Off I run, falling over myself,
a mug of salty cider. This
wave an insecure bed. Seaweed
pillow. Carried by moon to
an abyss.
The floor of my mansion is
not tidy. I shall have sponges
for lunch. Ride with seahorses
perhaps.
On the far shore, my lover
smiles, kiss of surf.
