French Fries

Tasted ocean on your lips.
Thus far, ignorant of the flavor of memory, then
The transformation of a meant microsecond:
A battering ram on the door of my heart,
Making way for the flood.
Storm and cessation,
Peace and passion.
I have been held by fire
(But not burned),
Soothed to sleep by waves
(But not drowned).
Will I ever wake again?

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