Invitation

by Tria Wood

When are you going to move closer?
The space aches between us.
It invents its own language.

The jagged edge of the ocean 
paints the sand dark,
retreats into its own swollen 
urge, arcs forward to tease 
the shore with the inexorable

inevitable that drives 
my hands 
into the unwritten dark
to pull the tide of you 
over me.

Drown me,
roll me against you.
Make me your pearl.

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