At high tide on the shoals
with a scent of cinnamon
from the snifter of your lips
as your hands weather night
in midnight’s cognac chowder
from sea cliffs of your mind
soaring gulls of Appledore
the way you drink me
where barnacles whisper
the moon’s ancient code
in brine-stung syllables
charting latitudes unseen
in the deep’s cathedral
at high tide on the shoals
with a scent of cinnamon








hello dearest Adagio this write arouses all the senses beautiful ❤️
Thank you Brenda.