Jealous of the Tides

By Hope Simpson

We mirror the tides that rush to the shore,

And meet with a crashing embrace,

At first benumbed, then we begin to warm

To the ceaseless expanse we face.

You lead me in deeper, towards the horizon,

Until my feet cannot touch the sand.

We float with the water, falling and rising,

My fingers entwined in your hand.

The seawater tastes like tears, salty and pure,

But I have no reason to cry?

To know that each wave will rupture,

And shrink until the shore turns dry.

I already mourn for the moments we spend,

But it will not be the tides which come to an end.

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