A Seagull Cries

The gentle wave of your hand washes her long leg –as you splash love upon her and she flinches - stumbling against the tide. She taunts it, runs from it along her thirsty shore. You follow - an incessant swell chasing a shifting sandbar of need. Again your crest breaks and a million tears splatter forth – quickly absorbed and released back into the brine.

Still you play upon her salty lips and my eyes burn. As I stand and dust the grit from my skin the mist turns thick in the air. She tosses and flits and can’t go in - knowing the tide won’t return this time.

A seagull cries ‘mine’ from above – and I feel the rush. Sand sifts from beneath my feet, and I fly into the wash. Drench me. Rock me with foamy kisses, slip me under to swim in a sea of possibility. I surrender to the tow and let go to find where we will beach.

I am your message in a bottle, corked and waiting to tip upon the sand, roll into your depths and pop the surface. Deliver me to the man with far-away eyes. Take me there and let him read me...“She sent me where she couldn’t be.”