Rouge gills burn, gouge word of mouth:
Moon’s long veins pull the sinews
of the waves - open wounds
Wherein fish flash blades
The leaving left
a half-hearted wave,
its wake knowing
the heart works in sand and cliché
Sharp shoreline shells
a broken battlefield
fragile, soft-centred
lovers absent without leave
Creatures whose bones become sand,
become castles and moats
moulded by small hands
building fortresses again, again
in blaze of August sun
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