poetry by j matthew waters

Gulf of Mexico

He said it was time to move on
that his shortness of breath
was just the latest sign
that all he needed
was a little saltwater magic
running through his veins

It didn’t take that long
to pack all of his belongings
ditching the white room
by way of a one-way ticket
purchased once upon a time
in a recurring dream

february two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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