The gale is not the danger, nor the weather.
We dare not be seen together.
This coast holds no time or place for ‘us’.

Grey storm billows round our skirts.
These rocks absorb our silent hurts.
The gale is not the danger, nor the weather.

We watched for them, their cold inspections,
Their tools to breach our skin’s reflections.
We dare not be seen together.

So let the surge take what it pleases,
Our love, lost to the salt-slick breezes.
This coast holds no time or place for ‘us’.

A cascading poem shared with dVerse MTB