The blue whips crack in silence,
stinging clings to memories
sliding over a shining,
translucent sail.

Ocean tides shift, the tips
of waves glitter gold,
while swells filled with shadows
divulge hidden notes
birthed by watery strings.

The sea whispers them to winds
that tug the turbulent surface, 
carrying the sirenic call
to draw me near.

But on the roars I ride,
leaning against the curves,
leaving behind the whirlpool
that swirls
beyond Scylla's tiny cousin.



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