I am sure -
certain
that you buried
your head into
the hot sand
and now I am
kissing glass
each night -
running my fingers
through a million
splinters of hair
burned black at
the root -
dead as
the dandelions
you plucked -
when I fold
my hands into
the cotton of
my pillow -
when I scream
with pleasure
or call your
name -
I am only
an ocean,
an island short
of ship -
wrecked