Washing sand from cuts on my
feet
Wiping grains from the corners of my
eyes
A hundred stones, bouncing together
musically
Tossed back and forth by rushing salt water,
seaweed
I sit here in silence, waiting for the last
puff
Off a cheap cigarette, pulled from cellophane,
cheap wrapping
Adorning your arms with a ball point
pen
A human canvas, framed by smiling green
eyes
And the ocean crashes with tired
repetitiveness
While we are still unaware that we even
exist
Or that we will someday, maybe even today,
cease