shallow

the quiet weight of salt drying on warm skin.
a memory of the shore, carried into the sanctuary of the home.

The shoredive is over. The world is muffled. You sit in the sun, salt-less saltiness rising from your shoulders as the water evaporates. It isn't a fragrance; it's a state of being.

"Shallow" is the transition. From the expanse of the ocean to the intimacy of the shower. A trace of mineral cooling under a soft linen towel. It doesn't announce itself. It simply holds your vibe, quietly.