Friday, October 11, 2019

A cento, of sorts (Day 996)


She walks the length 

  picking up shells

unbeknownst to her  he lingers


leaving her dress in a heap 

  crashes into the waves

unwilling to admit defeat


gasping  emerging salty 

  as a seal  and as sleek

still   he waits  hands in his pockets


brushes clinging grains 

  of sand from her shoulders

though their final page has turned


(c) 2019, by Hannah Six

Image: Pseudopanax (CC BY-SA 3.0)


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