September 27, 2018
And it curls and laps and I'm quenched again.
And it retreats and fades
And I exhale
And here it comes – it nears and lows and creeps
And its here!
And I'm touched – I'm wet, but I'm quick.
But it's gone – it's pulling fast away, clawing and grabbing the beauties with it.
They are buried.
But do not look for them – don't you dig. They tumble forth as I'm being approached.
Is it chasing me, after all?
I'll stand here, right here. I'll watch and I'll wait. The watching – someone must do it.
A curl and a churn, but this time a ridge, unfurling – flattening, almost right now.
And it's pulling back so
I'm lured and longing.
I'll watch again.
Someone has to.
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