Swallowing Salt Water

I want to peel back
their flesh and put
some light inside
the tendons, oh cold

clam hands of mine.
Expectations, and it
won’t be rolling tide
or chandelier eyes

lost to what ever
flare was here: now
ash to pack, sculpt
into teeth with erratic

glow, then “Hallelu…
maybe…” My spirit
draws it’s own line,
invisible, rising tide…

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