Last night, my Love,
we were swimming in the ocean
below the gentle swells,
the Moon turned down low.
“Don’t be afraid of the Hydromedusae,”
you said to me softly.
“See? They don’t sting.”
I agreed with a nod and reached for your hand,
while whales sang bass medleys, and the
Hydromedusae said “Your money is no good here,”
as they gracefully waved goodnight.
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Beautiful. Mac, you are a good writer of prose and poetry. If you haven’t been published, you should look in to it.