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Oct 2013
A slippery, charcoal, behemoth of a rock

Lying dormant, as if sleeping, 

Under the comfort of a seabed. 
Waves are crashing onto

The shoreline,

Rippling across the weightless,

Unblemished sand

As though it were hair

Gently being pushed across your face

The almost unnoticeable,
Yet constant breeze

Of the in and outs of your breath

Are the only constant left.

Small indents,

The size of dimples

Are the only remains visible

A last and final reminiscent memory

Of the grace that was once there.

An almost tranquil sendoff

As the water gets pulled back into the expanse

An expanse as deep and as beautiful

As the locks of your hair.
Unconscious thoughts dart through my mind

As quickly as the most nervous fish

Conjuring pictures and images

As vivid as Van Gogh’s

Streaked with lost and quickly forgotten words

Like a smoothed out seashell

Pulled under and out into the sea

To a place more wondrous than the eye will ever see 

The shells float away,

Making one last attempt to stay above the water’s surface

To stay conscious.

But the smell of the air,

Mixed with the comfort of the water

Coaxes it back

Like a siren’s song.

Under those waves,

Beautiful waves,

The same everlasting and flowing haven I have fallen into
The endless,
unexplored, untouched,

Flawless shelter of your locks.

The ones that gently touch against my sand-colored skin

Lulling me and inviting me to drift away,

Away, back into the expanse of a dreamland

One almost as endless

As the ocean of us.
matt bates
Written by
matt bates  Henderson, NV
(Henderson, NV)   
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