Beach

The pain in me is a boulder. Waves turns rocks into beaches over millennia but I only have fourty years at the outside. So don’t be a wave. Be a jackhammer. Be an earthquake. Be a pickaxe. Grind me down to sand so I can flow through your hourglass figure. Let me be something other than an unmoving blank face. Let me be the passage of time going through you.

Let me die while being buried alive in your shallow grave.

I believe all hearts are dogcatchers. I believe that if there were such a thing as feral trains that lived in the wild, then that’s what puberty is. I believe that somewhere someone is asleep and I am their nightmare.

My face is a sail. It’s obvious when it has the power to go somewhere. And it’s obvious when it’s dead in the water.

I love you. So I should come up with some superlatives.

If I ever lost you, I’d put up so many missing person posters, people would think it was a presidential campaign.




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