by Virginie Colline
onyx shingle beach
all night long he gently chokes
in a stagnant dream
far side of the bed
after a winter away
an ocean of ice
the words left unsaid
sinking down into the depths
ripples and sunset
unknown latitude
he has lost track of his self
riding the black waves
Virginie Colline lives and writes in Paris. Her poems have appeared in The Scrambler, Prune Juice, The Mainichi, Frostwriting, Prick of the Spindle, Mouse Tales Press, StepAway Magazine, BRICKrhetoric, Overpass Books, Dagda Publishing, Poethead, Silver Birch Press, The Bangalore Review, and Yes, Poetry, among others.
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