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.