we like to kiss

them on vacation

flapping beneath

our life vests as we

inch toward their soft

grey beaks

which seem to funnel

us featherlessly

into blueness

suspended by sky-sea

as it churns

turning slushily

to white then orange

then pink

like sherbet

like so many

sunbursts on the tongue

of a mouth that can only

taste while a second

mouth breathes

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