by Ann Rought

Your soft whispers
are the waves’ voice
spraying on the rocks.
The sparkle in your eyes
is silver moonlight
on the sea.
Your chest,
to which I press my cheek,
is summer sand-
your love
is found on the salty breeze.
Far gone…
We kissed goodbye,
but never touched,
I reached out a hand
and grasped only mist.