a poem about seagulls flying in the sky during the early morning, while sitting with my partner
When the sun hasn't
come up, seagulls sit in the sky.
Like they're hanging,
from a
thread, in a museum.
Maybe it is due to the strong
winds coming off the sea.
Maybe because I haven't slept.
Phones can't capture the beauty,
due to the lack of light.
Not even the sun can see the birds
floating, as if it's nothing.
We sit on a cold bench,
veins filled with static.
Watching seagulls seem so elegant,
mysterious and it's a sight I only want to
see with you
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