Waves slide over the ocean

They reach the sand and lose strength

They kiss every little pebble, every grain

And then withdraw

Recline back comfortably

Sometimes with grace

Sometimes with ease

A motion delicate as a breeze

Leaving behind a dark silhouette

Sometimes lovely

Sometimes lusterless

And such a soft caress

Such a sweet embrace

Only invites eager anticipation

For nurtured skin of its lovers

Once wrapped in salty sweaters

Once draped in blue blankets

Leaving one hungry for more

But the tide isn’t always benign

When waves become fists

Full of fury from a stormy maker

An angry washing machine

To tumble what it touches

Rather than graze through palms

As it does on sunny days

And its retreat becomes a vacuum

To purloin peaceful possessions

Purposeful, prized, or pointless

To sweep them deep into sea

Perhaps never to be seen again