travel

if i could be anywhere
i would smell the heavy blanket
of fish and salt
that wraps the slick wood and stone streets,
tacked over the world in a halcyon haze,
torpidly drifting and settling,
in the rhythm of
the foamy obsidian lapping sheets,
above the head but below the sky
making the stars hazy through
the incandescence of languid senses

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