Imagine a day when someone takes you home from the sea, salt sun scorched, and you sleep and you are woken with watermelon to slake your thirst.
Remember that day when someone took you home from the sea, salt sun scorched, and you slept and you were woken with watermelon to slake your thirst.
All I could
think was I
wished my
tears were
not salt. They
scoured and
scarred the wounds in
my heart.
One day friends
said. I
doubted.
Oh let me be your breakfast pastry
I’m slightly salt yet sweet, so tasty
I’ll be the froth upon your coffee
Your doughnut nibbled softly
Spread me jamly on your brioche
Or your plain bread if you’re not that posh
Let me be there, your strong builder’s tea,
As you start another day, with tea, and you, and me.
The taste of the sea stayed with Steno though he washed his mouth with wine and ate his meal of honey. The night would be long.
From salty
to soapy
to sweetly, smoothly, dry
Wading into the sea up to my waist
I cup a handful of its water in my hand.
On my tongue it is cool and sweet
I dive in, deep, and touch the silver sand.
Sun kisses.
Cool breeze soft whispers.
Sweet fruit salt memories.
Sun kisses.
On my icy late way home, in the orange urban light, I drop my chips. Bag splits; chips spill. Fortunately, the pavement has been salted. Dino was less lucky. He dropped his fresh-shucked oysters on the freshly gritted hill.
