The rush of blood as deepest tidal waves

Roll in just to pull away sun drenched
Beaches sucking up stones and sand glass
The regret of the beach washed is the regret
Of an emptied vessel the way the tide turns
Lingering a moment just to say
Drags and pitiful and limp the dropping
Heart the sunken pride perhaps with this
Dribbling of sea water it is sometimes the
Hardest thing softened by the waves
Need and knowing the way it will die
In your throat and on the tip of your
Where the sea meets the sand
The heat of its moment will be cooled
And slip away.

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