Merambula

Wind blown

sea squalls

beach hums,

sand filters

into

dead birds wings

seaweed.

 

Momentary  holiday

makers

lean against

sea’s face

bobbing band

of

wet – waisted

surfers.

 

We walk

separate now

no edges,

touch

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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