Undertow
and you splash away
into the ocean.
My curls loosen
in the wind, tangling
into briny ropes of seaweed,
and I am unsure
of the source of salt
on my cheeks.
This is how we pass the afternoon.
I watch,
shiver in the spray,
a flightless bird
bound to this rock,
as you disappear
into the next brackish swell,
and then another,
to the strange frothy rhythm
of wave over stone.
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