Talking On A Dark Beach

Tossing the whisky bottle with a note like a tongue

This is the tide hour when the sea reads everything written by shaky hands from a long goodbye, a longer drunk

I watch the outward bottle, my life and yours, vanish upon the breathing mind, like the labored lungs of a dolphin, the whale struggling after a million years, dying in the sand  

Death is not a face, it is a mirror, the layers of the earth, cut and dried, the currents of the sea washing over you and me, and we read time by turning the pages in our hands, the yellow letters of our nails

I wait for the rain, that pure part of the sea that resembles tiny points of light in my eyes, and I can fly in the rain, in the dark night on the beach without you, with only your touch like a proud Vega sending wings across the sweep and tide of our void

I am here with that rising feeling, where star dust and rain lift and cover me, and I cry incessantly, a lost child, and there is nothing in my mind except you by my side, the glow to guide our exit like the invitation of boats

Let us go out tonight, let us swim toward the lights

No one will ever know


7 thoughts on “Talking On A Dark Beach

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