always the same beach
sting on the lips
hand across the eyes
the water in motion
waves, mounting
footsteps leave an imprint
that was already there
waiting for another year
though the years
go on ticking over
these seagulls are familiar
black and white squawk
against the light brown sand
heavy billed
trying to make you laugh
on those spindly legs
swooping for hot chips
the mouth is desiccated with salt
parched into desire
for what has already happened
breeding each day as if it were
new, each year as if
the only year
Love this. Thanks.
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