the fog is spitting straws of sunlight,
the edges crisp like blades.
sister’s hair is bouncing like waves
as you run down the dock, the board
swerving like drunk lungs, breath intoxicated.
the night is painting the sky hues of
desperation and angst. the waves
start lamenting its heartache again,
sings songs of lust and need, a hollow
void yearning to swallow a filler. dancing
distortedly, it reaches hysterically for
something to hold on to. do not slip away,
it begs. built up on loss, it learns to flee before
the blade falls. the air reeks of salt and bitterness,
smelling like a fervor to be more than fleeting.