To the waves:

bring me whipped-cream foam

on top of sea-salted air

don't forget the occasional delicacy

from the unknown shore

where other customers are waiting--

 

here, bring them this feather

this shell, this abandoned cup

of half-slurped smoothie

if you would, I'd like

a to-go box, this conch will do,

filled to the brim with whispered

rumors: even when I've left

you'll still be crashing against

the indifferent shore

before retreating into vastness

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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