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.
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.