Leaning on one foot

Sea, untouchable,
heaves, sighs saline.
Fore finger presses lightly
with surface skin.

Knuckles clasp white
against the reminders
of our distance
at the base of a week.

It matters not,
that the light is fading,
day’s promise is ended,
and tidal nature continues,
time belies my concern
inside each seperate drift.

On my hand is a line,
watermark till we meet.
The sea waits for the moon
to observe its progress,
I wait for you.

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