(Courtesy of
mademoiselleterre ) 
gulls are, love.
The slow, high gulls.
Sea winter. Gray water
cold spot rocks.
Your legs, your sweet legs
soften the waves.
A dirty sky turns
the sea. The wind cleared the profile
hills of sand.
tedious salt ponds and cold
copy your light and form. Something
scream at the top,
you do not listen, rapt.
gulls are, love.
The slow, high gulls.
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