Missing You (poem)

Missing You

Palm trees and balmy Sundays
beside the port watching sails
hover over the horizon
dipped in twilight and paradise
in February far away from the
Atlantic pretentious that I was
so accustomed to for months
and months of wishing so much
for riptide curls spilling down
shoulders anchored to the lifeline
of your back holding hands while
your other a clenched fist
aims for the sun on hot summers
too sticky to contain
in a peach-scented hand soap
reminding me too much
of being abroad near the sea
singing of sails anchored to
your lifeline missing you
and the yearning to be free.

— The Finicky Cynic

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