type of existence

My city-soaked feet finally

against the loose sand, first dry

then wet then Baltic. Waves. Rest

is soft. There is a moment when

I let my body unfold before the weather and the rumbling water and I always believed that the sun kisses you with

more passion at this altar and leaves

you colored a bit awkwardly — only in places you revealed. It is regretful

we can’t or that we don’t offer ourselves completely. To be beautifuly devoured

in the name of endless devotion —

existence we refuse to recognize.