The cliffs sat along to my left, slicked by the incoming mist carried surreptitiously by the winter breeze and one ribbon of thin white foam cut across the rolling blue; more blue cerulean maybe

 

skittered above the green of the remaining coastline, frosted decorated by pillows of lazy diaphanous something

Just past the foam and the green blue water the whistle symphony rose; oh my ears and the chorus blanketing the whole of view of time and tide; two people far down the beach

 

melding with the cool saltwater-saturated sand ambling, oblivious to the sound or maybe sculpted by and growing from it

Maybe I dreamt them but did not dream the scarlet.

One rock jutted forth from the waves and foam, and a vermillion cloth bobbed and eddied at its base. Opaque amber seaweeds encircled, threading around the red mass and obscuring its edges. two air pockets at its center caused the crimson to bulge in fulsome curves red bosom or muscle pumping saltwater blood

and the chorus–gulls harmonizing with watery whispers–kept persistently thrumming buzzing purring as I walked into the water immune to the cold engulfing my legs then enveloping my midriff and shoulders. Breeze continued bringing the mist and it clung to my face and lightly stung my open eyes

Floated closer to it, I did; those coils and tubes of sealife forming vessels and arteries around the red silk muscle at the hem of the rock’s skirt and I checked my ocean heart’s pulse

putting hand to it as it beat and the amber veins and tubes threaded through my outstretched fingertips, musky saltiness filling my open head

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