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Wisps of fins dance through my fingers,
seaweed curls beneath my feet.
The sand wraps around my ankles
and holds me gently.
The bed of salt unwinds
and lifts me into the sun,
blanketing my shoulders in a showered light
that has been missing far too long.
Drunk teardrops line the carpet
that distances the two beds.
The stale room I left you in
was a distorted oubliette.
Sickly evidence of the drinks
we drank to see an eye to eye,
a grisly attempt at starting fresh
a last chance to make it right.
I watch the window where the curtains
are dulled with muddy words,
unlike the ocean that reflects
a bright and living sky.
It holds the shape of open arms
to wash my mind of rust.
A holiday that was meant to heal
but ended with emptiness.
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