East Coast Beach
Your waves are rollers of perplexed thoughts
slowly crashing the walls
in my subdued self
pushing me to go on.
I restrained this before
focused my days to flushing toilets,
clearing glasses, mopping floors
and strolling Orchard on Sundays.
But conniving with you
didn’t treat me like a stranger
although I hid it under my skin
In your sand lay mixed colors
and so I partook myself too
Here, no one is different
feeling the sun, killing time,
weaving green dreams
For the rest of the day
is a communion of you and me
and I’m soaring like Dan Brown’s angel
not in mind the pile of plates I need to wash
when I return.