Ocean met the ocean

It was my first time at the beach and I already had been crying,
I sat on the sand like an astronaut gliding through space, like a misfit toy finally finding its museum to
let sit in the distance and see which child would reach his hand first, almost galloping through his way from the “Do Not Touch” signs in the corridor.

I sat on the sand and looked at the vast blue nothingness mixing so gracefully with the sky as if hugging their love out for me to see, sun bestowing its honey-coated blessings dripping on my shoulders and the water in front of me. I stretched my legs out and waited for the water to come to the shore, gratification comes easy when you welcome it with a smile.

It was my first time at the beach and the ocean had a surprise for me,
I sat on the sand, legs stretched wide, waiting with jitters in my toes, I can explain the tingling sensation but it calls for another poem.
The water came, touched me so gently that I forgot what century I was in, the salt left letters between my toe-nails, unfathomable, It instantly became a story worth telling.

It was my first time at the beach and my feet were already drenched, my clothes were damp and I did not know what era I was in. The water kept touching me as it kissed the shore again and again.
Ocean met the ocean.
One dimension met another and its salt mingled with mine.  You gotta mix it well so it doesn’t scratch the throat from the inside and it was my first time at the beach and the first time the ocean touched me and this is how it felt when you kissed me for the very first time.

Ocean met the ocean.

Maybe the secret to Shakespeare’s love sonnets was that he fell in love with the water as well
and his soul sipped it for long when it was thirsty, have you ever felt loved by the air when it fills your lungs and leaves in an instant?

I have already fallen in love with you for so many times that your salt is intermixed with mine and the forget-me-nots are planted on every molecule of my body but my blood is made up of ink and the creamy sheets of paper are waiting for me to spill all of myself on them as if to tell a legend and you slither in so quietly in every poem like the water coming back to touch the shore again and again.

It was my first time at the beach and so was my first time in love.
My feet were drenched in ocean salt and my heart was stained with first-base romances.
I did not know what century I was in,
but you were there and so was the water
and I already had been crying
because my heart could not contain the story.

Ocean met the oceanocean
so we went swimming.

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