Wetsuits hanging up in St Ives Hostel, poem about wetsuits and watersports on Sea, Earth, Sky

That Wetsuit Smell

The smell of the wetsuit brings it back –

the cold early mornings,

the sunsets watched from the water

shivering in a carpark as it grew dark

and bundling wet things into plastic bags.

The smell of wetsuit lingers

on my skin longer after it’s peeled away

and all that’s left are aching muscles.

It brings back the memory

of water swirls around my feet

sails raised up into the wind

as we push our boards into the sea.

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