Lean back in a beach basket,
take a sip of champagne sea,
foam tickling,
rolls of white waves join hands
before bowing to brown sugar sands,
mounded curtseys of a Victorian strand
topped with corseted seaweed ribbons,
the elegant ease,
of each brackish tide on my side,
light touch,
hesitant hops,
the subtlety of a silent sea.
As her partners,
we must wait patiently.
A morning belle,
the sea is shy.
She bats her waves
like flirting eyes.
White lashes curl
gently against tan-skinned sand,
soft as inner thighs.
A sea-foam glint to emerald eyes
the only sensation,
a gentle swish,
as her beauty sinks in
for one last glide
in the Baltic Waltz.
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Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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