Rushing on currents from the deep,
Crashing rugged rocks,
The whites thrown sky ward,
Web the early morning sun,
Casting colours of the rainbow,
The air saturates with sea fresh,
The light house awash,
Hidden but temporary,
Appears again,
White washed water,
The sand driven back,
Retreats to just before the mangroves,
Swaying palms and noisy pandanus leaves,
Stare out to sea,
Like long hair women,
Waiting for husbands to return
From long voyages,
Gulls just yonder,
Rest on jagged rocks,
Ready for the next fish,
Chatting noisily
About the one that got away,
An old oil palm net,
Tied between beach hut posts,
Yes my hammock improvised,
A coconut woven hat,
And small fire beside,
The catch for the day,
Boritta and Crayfish in open fire,
I let my urban worries fly,
My spirit dances the invisible wind currents,
As my body a lazy lump,
Surrendering to tropical seduction,
Female wind roughing my hair,
A million soft tongues tantalise my bare chest,
The climax is yet to come,
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