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During the time of silence

the moon pulls us
through the froth
of a thousand years

inside the giant conch
sliding along
its smooth skin

we spiral
towards the tip
with accelerating speed

engraving a cameo with each wave

breaking the surface
of aragonite; stroking our way through
calcium and carbon and oxygen

to the mouth
of the cave

and inside the walls drip like chimes.

We rise
the sea

wrapped in algaen truth

my tendrils
slip across
your chest; taught

leaking phosphorescent green

you peel
my skin so I can match
the moon’s shimmer

and we leave
the decorated trumpet
on shore

for those who will come when the sound begins, again.

Posting for DVerse Poet’s week #80 http://www.dversepoets.com