Soft Salted Seas.
We live on soft salted sea, lull and lullaby to the sound of the waving land. Pebble dash wall support us, they bore us, ignore us, spat us out and tore us from great mother's womb where we swam the dark endless collision of day and night.
Drinking we swayed in the hot anticipation, perspiration, whilst overhead the moon swirls like a fish, he splays his face to us, frolics and follies to the pitied patter of dancing feet. We cling to the sticky Atlantic glare of our surroundings. Scream and release onto antiseptic tables to the men with antiseptic hands.
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