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B 1d
Wind passes through my toes.
Sand shifts under my feet. One
million grains at my feet. I
want sea breeze hips,
tidal voices, and skin
pickled in brine. I am
reborn in the sun’s warm arms,
I, who belong to the sea
hope u nerds like it!
The small invasion of gentle waves,
Encroaching onto the dry trodden sands,
Whispering an unstoppable assault,
Of the moon-led tide.

As the waters destroy the mark of man,
Upon the sands,
It creates again a new blank canvas,
Waiting the new artist marks,
Applied by,
     chasing dogs,
     squealing children,
And,
     A greyed couple,
Walking towards one more,
Horizon dipping sun.
alex Jul 22
Sleepless summer nights,
salty golden curls,
green swim shorts,
charming, star-speckled smiles.
Soft-spoken words,
guileless promises,
chilled beach air,
lapping waves,
crickets chirping,
cans cracking,
laughter echoing through darkness—
bonfires illuminating faces.
Lost in the labyrinth of bare love,
mistakes made,
heartbreak— inevitable.
Sunburnt hearts.
Bree Jul 22
mind melt
into obscurity
meld mind
into whisps
wisps
wisp
a tiny sliver.
No one will see
the smallest of light for few to view
strike hands
and knives
for all to see
stand naked with
shells in hand
gleam and glean
about the wheat and chaff
make noises til our mother laughs

amid the sea: grey, gold and fire
the embers of waves in twilight
bloom and die and live
in atoms once created
now forgotten
fish-sama Jul 21
My queen! Inhale each grain of sand and reign!
Take all you touch: castles, footprints, poems
sung with muted cries of rasping pain.
Your servants await, bikini women and ******* men.

I stand knee-deep, each night you rise and fall,
stealing bits of me until all that remains
is an ivory statue studded with barnacle kisses.
A trip to the beach
Naina Jani Jul 21
The silvers of influence
spill from the moon’s palm,
soft over skin warmed
by a beach day’s hush.

Here, paradise breathes —
not loud, but in sighs,
where seafoam curls
around ankle and ache.

Your gaze, dark as onyx,
doesn’t just look —
it lingers.
A smooth promise,
ripe with unspoken tides.

And I —
I unravel,
seduced by salt air
and the weight
of being seen.

🎀  𝒩𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒶 𝒥𝒶𝓃𝒾  🎀
Lee Jul 20
I don’t know the ocean
And she doesn’t know me
Surely she remembers more
But I’m a mountains and trees girl
Patience is key
Written on the balcony of the condo we rented for the week
Lee Jul 19
How numb
Can your toes be?
That the horseshoe *****
Who don’t even have the means,
Can pinch your skin and make you scream?
Wrote this one after a beach day
Sophie Chen Jul 18
For all the Heavens know,
You could be angel born
Or
Hell depths
******.
Don’t grieve for lost moments
-the seas will always
return to reach the
sand.
For a friend
m3dus4 Jul 18
jericoacoara, brasil

i used to think paradise was loud.
grand.
someplace with fireworks or a sign that said you’ve arrived.
but here
paradise whispers.
it hums like wind over dunes and the hush of tides kissing mangroves.

it starts slow:
bare feet on red-dust roads,
a lime cut open for caipirinha,
salt tangled in your hair
before you’ve even unpacked.

pedra furada stands like a portal
not just a rock, but a wound the sea never stopped carving.
you walk there at low tide,
thinking of all the things erosion teaches us about time,
and how light, at the right angle, makes absence look sacred.

at sunset, the many locals climb the dune like pilgrims.
all of us waiting,
as if watching the sun slip beneath the ocean
might give us permission to let go of something, too.
and when it disappears, we clap.
not for the sun, but for ourselves.
for choosing this place. for arriving.

in lagoa do paraíso,
you swing in a hammock half-submerged,
water licking your skin like a secret.
you forget your name for a while.
only remember the temperature of turquoise
and the ache of muscles finally unclenched.

there’s a bent tree they call preguiça: lazy.
but it’s not lazy. it’s free.
it grew toward the wind and stayed there.

god, maybe that’s what we’re doing too.

capoeira beats call you to the beach at dusk,
bodies moving like poetry before it’s written.
then forró after dark,
barefoot spins under fairy lights,
strangers holding each other like old friends
or future stories.

in the mangroves of guriú,
you glide silently between roots that braid water to earth.
they say seahorses live here, invisible to the rushed eye.
maybe you do too,
the version of you that still believes in quiet magic.

there’s a night when the stars are too many to name.
you lie on wet sand,
and the sky reflects itself around you
like the universe is closing in
just to hear your breath.
and maybe it does.
you make a wish on a bird instead of a star.
you don’t know why,
you just do.

and out of nowhere,
someone hands you a board.
you fly down a dune laughing.
you dance.
you say nothing for hours.
you say everything with a glance.
you remember who you are
before the rush and alarms and musts.

you begin to wonder:
what if the way out wasn’t loud at all?
what if escape looked like sunburned shoulders,
wind chapped lips,
and the sweet, slow ache of coming home to yourself?

so tell me,
how’s the escape plan coming along?
because this map drawn in sand and silence?
it looks a lot like freedom.

m.
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