walking along
the shorelines of the abyss —
the corals are charcoal,
and the sand is coarse.
hand in hand with cacti —
your thorny grip reaches deep
as I mark my steps,
pollinating the sand beneath;
looking around for seashells,
and hearing their voice —
their echoes cry tales of voyages
and love lost,
of deserted sailors
and meandered lovers.
your lips are dry,
and your hair is tangled —
it looks like it'd hurt
to kiss you.