Morning on the Seine, Claude Monet (1897

With our bodies at war
we swam against the tide at sea,
the sun beat down on our faces
while our limbs gave in
we couldn’t tell the exact moment
when we had stopped kicking the water
and slowly started sinking
into the most queer shade of blue;
we thought of the saddest story ever told
and couldn’t cry
even at our own death
we felt excused
from the consequences of our choices
while salt cut into our tongues
and left a bitter aftertaste,
the last thing we remembered
thereafter.

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— Satyaki Mitra
morning on the Seine, Claude Monet (1897

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