let the disgust hide within
the transparent shells
of white crusty sin

They can see through
my dusty muddled skin
but cannot, of what is
engraved deep within

These shells, they are
fragile and blue
and in deep denial
that they belong to you

These shells, they do not crack
they grow old, to only
reminisce and bite your back

-Kaya

You and I and these beachy vibes.
Swaying like the palm trees in the wind.
The California breeze blowing through our hair as we stay here perfectly still. We build barriers from sand and shells, to protect this moment from all the stares.

I am the ocean,
And you are a boy upon the shore.
You love my waves,
And the shells I flow out.
Entertained by ripples,
But fascinated with my depth.
Yet you float in shallow waters,
Too terrified to take the plunge.
Too terrified to swim.

Another shore,  another age
I walked those sands, searching...
Some shells,  some foliage,
I ran at the waves rushing.

Beyond the third white wave,
Curled against the fourth...
The brittle crab shell swayed,
Bobbled,  speeding forth...

My heel firm and grounded
The waves raised with a crisp honk..
The catamaran,  I spotted,
On the wall, seated a white conch...

Staring at the conch, I dreamed,
My fingers traced the tiny lines...
The lines circled edging for release,
I placed it near my ear,  it whined...

The song of another shore,  another age
I hear you now,  calling me
I hear clearly,  my voice interlaced
I stand here,  it's you I feel...

Looked up at the sky,
Looked at the sand,
Looked side ways,
Looked beyond...

Without a clue,  where to move,
I followed your voice from inside,
Another year,  another month,  or forever,
But,  one day we will meet,  soon enough

This day we will recite those lines,
For another shore,  another age,
Your words will still beckon,
I will follow your words,  till there is no return.

We wrote our names on the beach in animal bones
as a vivisection, on our love.
there, she’s whispering into shells
into their Fibonaccian, trumpeted, dresses
and full-cheeked into a razor clam flute.
I, too, gave my blood to grease our domestica
and hung names on stars over the nighttime sea
always accompanied as I were
with the shark-eye, death, of her looks.

We dressed up the walls of home in black and pinstripe,
filled the place up with lit and lightless places,
Shadowboxed, shadowfucked, and silently argued.
Spent hours inside, laying floorboards
and then laying on them
to stare at the sodium lights
and discuss the inkblots on our eyes.
We vivisected our lives,
and splashed it on the walls
and carved it into the carpets.

We set alight to christmas trees
when the kids were sleeping upstairs.
We dressed in each-other’s reddening horror
and answered the door.
Valentines day was full of bone bouquets,  
the gripper rods grew through the carpet
so on them we danced.
I prayed for the first time in the first year
and every one hit me subesquently
like I was its anvil.

I should have gone to war.
Because it makes forever shorter
things can only happen right now.

I watched everything in our domestica,
like when the static moved off the television
and played on the window
gutting me of my escape.
The smiles hung on our faces like lupus,
We had people round,
we cooked and coughed and choked
And their faces peeked round from the doorframe
and laughed.

The domestica lives
only to be a bit of fun,
but in the very same span of time
that decided to **** the birds on my windowsill
and my children’s love for me
and my dexterity.
We’ve happened to the whole world too
I promise you, my love,
my little hospice fire,
my flat tire at night at nowhere,
the lie you recognise means it’s over,
A field of a thousand three-leaved clovers,
the brightest night when you’re hiding,
your heart attack on holiday,
your bloodstained bed sheet
And sleep, whilst outside
the sleet and snow makes every emergency
harder to get to, and still the morning
much more beautiful.
I, you, we happened.