Spun Too Long.

Moonlit terrain,
sand grain,
foamy kisses
seas and shores,
manzanita whispers
the bellow
traveling lazily
from a distant
skipper’s fog horn.
Sharpness of pain,
to spy you again,
like a familiar
and haunting
rhythmic cleanse,
dance with me,
here where the
shores kiss the seas,
do not leave
in the absence
of my trailing feet.
Memories overlaid,
delusions overplayed,
like a record
the turntable
spun too long
until the sound
fell silently away.

One thought on “Spun Too Long.