I spin my threads in gold

and give every fiber of them to you
in good intentions
with all my attention.

Your shell is beautiful…
glittering blue and gold and topaz and
I swear, you were born from a painting.
In the gallery I’m waiting and
watching as you put Gabriel to shame.

Has anyone ever told you?
(To be the first to proclaim…)

However there is nothing in your veins.

Shallow are your waters and bare are your trees
The shell is all you have shown to me
and I prefer to throw you back to the sea.