I want a shore of coral and shells stretching out for as far as I can see in remembered candied concoctions of too much Limoncello and not enough cherry. The first breath going to my head like tiny bubbles too long kept in a glass by a wicked cork.
The blue water can only lighten and give way to the power of land tinted by tentative time. There is no mixing of masculine blue seas and the pink shores. No violet to mar the contrasting realms of Poseidon and man.
The eternal sight should not change for any queen or peasant for both must wait upon the rocks as to not leave a trace of themselves for the next. Though perhaps the next would be worthy enough to kiss the sands themselves, leaving behind a little more of their hearts to brighten for yet another to marvel upon.