she only greets

resounding beats;

grains, in the sheets,

emptied in streets;

some in totes—

baseless gloats

with powdered notes

—blackened, most;

the feeling’s toast;

returned, but roast

far from the coast,

can no longer post;

skin is itchy

scabbing to bitchy;

weekend laundry,

come back gauntly

jaundice, jauntily 

fresh from the sea

—sweat and algae.