Send me a handful of sea?
Your stale love clots
like wet sand.
Now clinging to my skin
now, not there.
At night, the sands turn silver
like a sky upturned
all its dead stars.
And, then I want
to wring all the black
out of your shadows
leaving only a
smear of ink behind.
Ink from the depths of sea
in a handful
of which
a lil mermaid will swim,
away from the wet sands
of your love, decayed.
