Wind blown

sea squalls

beach hums,

sand filters


dead birds wings



Momentary  holiday


lean against

sea’s face

bobbing band


wet – waisted



We walk

separate now

no edges,


shy away

from intimacy

two heads

upon a pillow.


Sunlit wind

turquoise ocean

blows :

even the palm fronds

might have a name,

for this.


Sand  filters

into skin pockets,

road stretches like

an exclamation

like a promise;

no destination.


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