Wind Bent Branches

I think of moving to the coast,

But I imagine it must lose something 

The cold water not so cleansing

The salty air not so sweet 

 

There's a victorian house we drive past,

Hidden between a bend and a beach front

From a glimpse of it's towers I spin a life

Full of renovations and pockets full of rocks

 

I bite down on the sand between my teeth

I hate the feeling

I hate how walking on the sand slows me

But I walk it every chance I get

 

I borrow from the waves their power 

From the ocean her depth

To be swallowed whole would be terrifying

But when I look out across her, I crave it 

 

I'll write a million times of the feeling

And never once brush on the truth

Be it my immature pen or her wild ways,

I'll search of the words in vain

 

I think of moving to the coast,

And I imagine who I could be here

Bathed in blue and wind bent branches 

The salty air strangely sweet