"Daddy look at all the sandcastles"
"Aren't they all so grand?"
"Who could have known a king and his throne,
Could simply be made out of sand"

"Look at the beautiful towers"
"I wonder if a princess lives there"
"I'll bet she is kind, they're so hard to find,
With beautiful long flowing hair"

My daughter loved to go to the beach
She loved the sandcastles the best
But she didn't know her heart was too slow
And soon they would open her chest

It's funny sometimes how time can fly
It only seems like yesterday
There was a major complication with her operation
And my daughter has passed away

I still go to the beach from time to time
To see the sandcastles on display
I still close my eyes and part of me dies
Each time I hear her say

"Daddy look at all the sandcastles"
"Aren't they all so grand?"
"Who could have known a king and his throne,
Could simply be made out of sand"

One word, your word,
and my stomach begins to writhe.
I fight myself from the inside,
shaky hands that actually look fine.

I hide in the crook of your
shoulder;
my face a stone, reflecting the tension
between the beat,
beat,
the increasing speed
of my pulse.

Your touch meets my touch,
fingers to fingers,
and I become a whirlpool
of impulse and reservation,
of passion and hesitation;
hope, and yet consternation.

Eyes to eyes,
and I am a villain in my own skin,
sick with disdain for myself, then.
But you are beautiful,
and I cannot look away.