the day was sketched
time added air
with roughened strokes
in spaces

the sea inhaled
sands grew
around memories
bivouacked

a swept stroke emblazoned
on a hidden horizon
counterbalanced
by the edges

mushroom umbrellas bloom
licked by salt
and the rays
of technique

lines and curves
superimposed
over
whiteness

and the shell of us
stretched
by the crab
of ennui

I thought you were made
of grey texture
a thick impasto
dipped in methylate

we meandered on wet canvass
pursued
by deadline

viewed by
strangers
within
and without

hanging
in isolation

our own chiaroscuro