• Vol. 04
  • Chapter 12
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The tongue of the sea licks the cheek of earth,
cleans this sandy plain like new skin. Its breath
is strong with ancient flavours crashing up
from the soupy, living green; a pungent bond,
unfiltered. Grit and sting of ocean.
The sibilant pulse of waves returns and goes,
will not be paused; cleansing, like time, those
scratches in sand, a moment’s scrawled impression,
made to disappear. Perhaps you can be brave here.