A poetry about Love and Life.

The clammy moisture from the sea outside put me in wet. The eternal murmur of the wind when it faced steep rock faces, worn corner of the house and howled in the brackets around her. The eternal murmur is rising as if she had a maelstrom churning around in your stomach and never gave her peace. I love to think in silence and peace.

The windows were spotted by viscous salt water could not wash off. When she still went on with the curved neck, I pulled the cloth out long strips of sea that the night was of orange veil with the evening sun. There was always one reason for much of the scales. Or maybe just not enough they weighed the reasons lay in my heart.

Mostly, she was alone in her thoughts. Get their life back.  A sort of penance perhaps covered her in the memories. Some would look at it that way. That she had something to do penance for. Relief was her own association – liberation of the soul. Out here, her soul could fly freely in the breeze, fly with sea birds of flying, and suddenly plunge down to the gray-white below with small herring gulls in its beak. The flight of the old weight is pressing on the heart and air wings is hanging quietly in the air and feel the sea spray to the bare abdominal skin.

Out here, she could sit nude in the round water beads on the brown summer skin. She sits naked or with his feet tucked into a pair of knee-high rubber boots. She sat on the bench with your knees spread out; the wind came over everything with their beloved characters. Out here she was waiting for him – the days he was just as well as the day he arrived. Whatever it was here that he found her, this way, and the right hand index and middle finger cigarette hung her arrogant and playful. Between the red lips she whistled the notes to the nearest birds and listened for a response from those who were forever free.

It was often how he found her there in the ocean. The times were there when he could come to her love life. Whenever he could live a few hours with her she was rampant, wild and crazy, and that was more like Mynas every time he saw her shyness had taken place in her eyes now. She came often to him on the path, jumping and drizzle, only dressed in rubber boots and tan summer skin. Then he wrapped the crocheted blanket on her as she lay in his arms. When she had shared so much of life in that there was not enough left for her. Then lay the rubber boots on the drafty floor and waited until they again went out to sail with her on the winds. Meanwhile he held her tight, firm, and allowed her to bless his chest with salty tears straight from the sea.

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