On the Tale of a Watery Breeze

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With translucent clouds

in a graying sky

how can we say good-bye to

the delightful sound of

our soft bodies

swimming in the distance?

Only somber stars hear my cry

as I chase the wind

back to a lie I found

on an empty beach

where I last heard

a salt-filled mist

moan my name.

I left my imprint on the sand

in hopes that you will come

back to a lonely man

who still chases you

in his dreams.

My invitation is on each grain

from a fresh fountain spilled

with pain for you

to massage beige hands

through the moisture

of damp sand.

Press it upon parted lips.

Mask your soft white face,

and let blondish memories

grind intense moments

in your flesh.

Shawn R. Jones

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