This is the
start of the rest, the
good bits - hang in
there

On the beaches seagulls color in
the air with shrieks and cries
that bounce off sand and salty spray

Dunes dissolve to grass where
tides get tired and retreat
ebbing like a first love
whispering goodbye to its last

All the stars here on these shores
the ancient innards of earth
transformed into irregular cobbles
remnants of the ancient innards
of all the stars in the galaxy

Each night first love embraces
strangers synthesizing souls
the linen moonlight cloaking them
against the freezing darkness

Waves of salty whorls hurl
thunderously against the shore
coloring stars with eternal light

It's a quarter past 3,
AM or PM, I'm not sure
The bottle's half empty
but maybe it's the second or the
third or the fourth,
it's hard to tell when they're smashed
Now it's a quarter full.

I think it's foggy outside,
but it might just be in my head
and it's cold and damp,
but it might just be in my head

My splitting head,
My own, cleaving,
continental rift

It's a quarter past 3,
again? I'm not sure, maybe
it's just been a minute. The
bottle's only half full.

'You alright?'

When I feel alone I like to go and look at the sea,
        
            It looks beautiful at night.

The problem is,

                there are too many people already there

                                                          ­staring out into the midnight blue,

and I can't help but notice,
            
                              not one of them is you.

Someone’s having a midnight shower,
I’m lying under familiar words,
I don’t know what you’re doing.
I think you’re getting high,
Holding your phone for way too long,
But maybe not.
Maybe there’s a guitar involved,
I don’t mean ‘involved’,
There isn’t a crime.
But a guitar seems likely,
That way you can sit quietly,
Unless you decide to sing.
I hope you sing.
The shower’s stopped now,
I’ll probably fall asleep soon,
I don’t know what you’re doing.