Pink sand pulls away
from the glistening shore,
melting fondant in the
Minute ecosystems inhabit
tiny grottoes in tide pools
of wet sand.
Some days I stroll the coast alone,
escaping in realms of lovers
where there is no logic but
an aching crush I hold to my breast,
a passage between a heart and the
mountains where I left you.
Allow me to come undone beneath
the weight of tender hands on eggshell,
the gentle quake of my sigh upon your
Let me drown in the deep river of
your eyes where there
is no threat of war, hard silence,
or the burden of forgiveness.