You roll your mighty body with impeccable waves.
You extend a playful, immersive delight.
I savor you with gratitude,
with sparks in my eyes.
Not the best of Cuban torcedores*,
nor my mum with Walnut Christmas cake,
can match your expertly crafted wake,
with salty flavors that swirl, fold, and perfectly break.
The foaming, dissolving dance in each wave you make – an electrifying grace.
You alone can sweep me off my feet and meet me where I am,
always catching me, lovingly, in your waterfull embrace.
I dig you, especially when sand is where I stand.
Your hypnotic sound.
A timeless symphony you alone can play,
for as long as gravity remains.
In fact, your soothing hum,
exudes the might
that hibernates my monkey mind.
I say yes!
Yes to my inner child that loves to play!
How lucky am I to splutter and paddle as if I was a child.
Thank you!
Thank you, for the playfulness that never ends.
For the joy you bring out of my salt loving, porous, Swiss cheese like cells.
*A torcedor is a skilled craftsman or artisan who hand-rolls cigars.
Ps… you can’t whip a whacky poem like this with Chat GPT,
so don’t fret about AI, it cannot come up with real stuff, because it cannot swim nor play,
it’s not kicking, and it’s not alive.
But it can surely help with a few crafty synonyms I need once in a while.
So, thank you for the role you play in
my sweet little rhyming game.
