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.
3 comments:
A wonderful write. Your words are delicious and your imagery sublime.
Anna :o]
You are so kind always, Anna.
Heartfelt thank you , your way!
Like the imagery, the imagination in the formations.
It conjures up vivid images of seashores, streaks in wet sand, from our own pasts. The best words resound most within us, I think.
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