Where the Sea Curves
The ocean
caresses her hips.
The sea loves her shape,
her curves are its curves.
Sipping a cold coke
watching a gang
of ogling young men.
A flowing tide
slips from her brown skin
almost reluctantly.
The boys are waving,
the sea is waving,
inwardly,
interestingly,
(at my age),
I am surfing a high crest,
and easily riding above
her incoming hips.
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