Slated for the Shadows

If I lay my hand

Flat against the surface,

Palm down
fingers dipping in the salty wetness,

I can almost feel her moving.


And if I hold my face to the wind

I can almost feel the 
wisp, the whiff, 
her breath

Against my cheek,
tiny droplets fine and silky.


I can hear her breathe,

See her disrupt the

Silver surface and

I can watch the mist that is

Her breath 

Drift and float.


If I put my head under the

Broken surface, eyes open 

I can almost see her

There.  

There in the farthest

Bits of fractured light.


Gray and slated for the shadows.
sperm wheel
Photo by Pete Johnson on Pexels.com

			

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