HABITUAL ISLANDER.

I do not know her now

but in between I do, somehow

pearlescent moon, title of traveller

far flung from her orbit

onto greensand, shifting shades-

little sea reveller with graffitied arms

habitual islander

pulling apart with the currents

tendons afloat, wide sargasso

torn ritually from bird skulls.

Hands sifting, searching

for love in the spaces of pumice

but it was just wet sand.

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