Lost at Sea

The tide is white, frothy foam
of ice and snow, lapping up
sand for centuries,
crashing against mossy rocks
and steep cliffs that climb upwards

Stormy nights surround, swirl about
the cove, hugging coast, kissing with
its wetness.

It's here we dip
naked in our innocence
deep in Atlantic ocean
where forests on dark sea beds
are resting places for soft bones
consumed one starry night.

the tide sweeps out,
lighthouse eye no more,
the coast can hear no screams.
Realising we have drifted far
tire quickly out,
and sink quietly to our graves.