Returning the Call

Am I ready to be loved

as the seagulls scream my

lover’s call,

Loud and open for all to hear.

Hands meet in a hasty squelch

awaiting a response from the

long quiet sea,

yet it is the moon who

commands their attention,

and the water vows to repeat.

The sand cuts feet far too calloused to be burned,

air pushed from lungs meeting

they will stay as long as it takes

to be heard.

If the moon were merciful

she would not ignore

their plight,

for only a moment they will be separated,

just as long as it takes for the knife

to plunge.