I wanted to write my name in the sand outside your door,
It wasn't far from the beach.
So I wandered down,
just to remind you that I exist,
but, as I wrote on the dry grit,
the wind had the audacity to blow.
I found it rather annoying.
Then the tide cruised the beach,
maybe I meant cursed it.
I knelt down in the remnants of the foam,
stick in hand,
Tried to write it again.
It wasn't happening.
Browbeat, I walked over the rocks,
on to the promenade,
to buy a sickly stick of rock,
maybe a bag of sweets.
(C) Livvi