Quare

Your failed blown kisses, reach a maritime shingle, crying across the Ithmus, down the Atlantic, they dance and tingle, turn the blue vista, to wriggle from crisis, waves tight mingle, sea birds dash the sunlight, where you stand faceless, for the terms fingled, by a wind lashed gate, high on resistance, you hear my canticle, a quotation of pieces, sometimes you miss, the remain to be single, do you hold consistence, instead of a ring ?