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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