A Midnight Walk By The Sea...
And at midnight we walked
the serpentined path by the sea,
over thick, moistened planks
of aged, splintered wood-
imbued with salted moisture
from height anemic dunes
that had failed surf and shore,
ravaged by the sea-wolves-
with such simplicity
that the splinters felt as smooth
as sheets of organdy,
loosing their jagged edges
from the eye of a June nor'easter.
Yet it wouldn't have really mattered
if our barefoot midnight walk
felt like mal-acupunture
from a Greenwich Village cave;
as when I reached for her hand,
saw her flushed pink face smiling
my sense of romance ossified
virility... my state of mind,
taken in by her feminine air,
stoned by her warm, almond eyes,
and we suddenly became aware
that the excitement of our jaunt
was all about 'the before'
of our midnight walk by the sea.
And we jogged-on back from where
we were flushed and pink an hour before
we had taken to the splintered wood
for a midnight walk by the sea.
poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
Added by Poetry Lover
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