Salt Scoured

considerations on helplessness

I crave anywhere but here.
Maybe the sea with a
sharp scouring of salt
wind and sea air.

Heavy, unforgiving silence hangs
thick in the air, as if a country
between us where a cluster of
regulated stars weave through
your unsaid regrets while rigid
delineations of before and today
hold fierce, prominent concern.
Where both embrace and gesture
will fail to sooth as finite margins
corral your imploding grey world
and I have a sudden unreasoning
need for the sea.

I crave anywhere but here.
Salt-scoured, like the sea.
I need the wind, a salty
spray, sharp sand on skin.
Exfoliation. A scrubbing.
Craving the burn, I need
to smell the sea.
Craving the burn, it is all
I can think about.

I crave anywhere but here.



Photo credit: unsplash/alto

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