The ripples at St.Pauls bay
Are like strokes of spearmint from the toothpaste tube
With the shimmering
White lines licked across the top.
When I dip below to find Atlantis
It burns my eyes
Just like I knew it would
And the pebbles whisper
‘It’s best to turn off the light,
Taste the depths’.
I try to knot my arms around the ocean,
Clinging on with calloused palms
In hope that it might stick with me
As easily as Colgate to the sink,
That a photograph is like
A flag without the breeze,
Or selfish sex without the tease.
Is like outstretched hands that never meet –
The greeting incomplete,
So I bob around
In the sapphire basin,
Admiring how entirely human it is
To feel sea salt on sunburn skin.