with empty bottles and
forgotten strawberries our
eyes swirl and
bodies tangle

not a breath of air may
pass between us;
not a single stone is
left unturned

but its not the wine
that drives this
venture to
divinity:

high tide,
the fusion between
parched land and
drowning sea,

prescribed by
neither vast ocean
nor endless beach,
presses from above–

inspired by the
omnipotent influence of
a reflective moon it
rises and falls.

the water’s edge while
always present is
always constant and
always moving

my heart beats here
trusting, open
honest, vulnerable
perfectly imperfect