Sea Salt

The ripples from St.Pauls bay

Are like strokes of spearmint from the toothpaste tube

With the shimmering

White lines licked across the top.
When I dunk below to find Atlantis

It burns my eyes too,
(Like I knew it would)

And the pebbles whisper

‘It’s best to turn off the light,

Taste the depths’.
I battle to knot my arms around the ocean,

Clinging on with calloused palms

In hopes it might stick

As easily as Colgate to the sink,

Before remembering that a photograph is like

A flag without the breeze,

Or selfish sex without the tease.
A photograph

Is like outstretched hands that never shake,

The greeting incomplete,

A vapid, senseless feat.
So I bob around

In the breathtaking sapphire basin,

Admiring how entirely human it is

To feel sea salt on sunburn skin.

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