SHE AND THE SEA

She sat cross-legged on a white wicker couch,
bewitching spray of sea salt lapping under her nose,
and could almost conjure his proud silhouette
matted against the kaleidoscope of dusk,
darting along each velvet beach head;
turning, haughty strides, to wave her goodbye,
and a “see you later…after my swim.”

But that was long ago.
One thunderous moan from that ancient tide,
fastens the clasp on her memory box.
Too painful to think of him - even now,
wrapped in her luring tides,
and happily so, at first,
before clawing the sandy bottom
bloody fingers,
airless gasps,
praying, desperately pleading
to glean one last flicker of porch light
or soft smile through the kitchen window.
Damn it all!
She hated the sea.