Stagnant

It’s okay if we stay here,
if only momentarily
in the stagnant,
summer air. 

I know that I’m the breeze
and you’re the tide,
that none else could compare. 

And if we stayed holding,
one another forever,
I wouldn’t have a care. 

There’d be no tide,
to pass a ride,
upon the breeze,
of a passerby –
A dying wave,
is idled by,
the stagnant,
summer 
air. 

BIATA

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