The back up with
A crooked neck bent
   Towards Hell
While his lips tightened sternly
   as a Victorian urn.

His face barely recognizeable
   ever since the penny-doppler showered
A wandering click
   that skipped
      no birds on his fence.

In a glass paned massacre, forever fossilized
between childhood bullies and prom-night feel-ups,
there was a consciousness that feigned
once a week, cockled in creationism and the Eucharist.

His passions -- clam shells flanked by the ripping tide.
His intellect -- a solitary warble amid ***** blue notes.

“Beyond this of my coastal lugubrious ,
There was a time I held her hand,
As I slowly watched her floret,
Her beauty adorned like petals cockled,

I grew intoxicated with the scent carapace,  
As we quivered within a new romance,
Becoming immune to its constant presence,
When the wind shifts it drew her aura near,

I had to stop and hear the pounding of waves,
Only to find it was the beating of my heart,  
Our love was of genital flames that night,
And I loved her even more at the dawn,  

My heart now bears an untold story,
Like a ship at sea that longs for land afar,
A great untruth my lips have borrowed,
Boundless treasure now edging my heart,  

Your love had filled my cup up to the brink,
Yet I grow thirsty in this silence tween me,
Now not a drop of love for me to drink,
Love now has left me again on this my,
Lugubrious Islet”
By Andrew Guzaldo 08/11/2018 ©

Cut the mesh of england

Let dolphin swim
salt-free and leap

Escape the net, the
mud of cockled estuary

Like the pages of the book we ruined that day in the rain
When we walked through the dark ***** streets in secret
Without a care for the downpour that endured
We are warped and the ink is smeared
Overcome with blackness and nothingness
Distorting and destroying the beauty that once lay there.

Our words are gone, just the memory of what lay there before
We were made of the weakest material
Paper wasn't made to last forever
Stone would have weathered the storm
But stone was too heavy for you to carry and not as poetic as paper
You always loved poetry, so how could you let the book, our poetry die like this?

You ignored the clouds before us and let it drown me
While you stood up on my shoulders to keep your head above the flood
Careless, you left our pages cockled after I carried us
Damaged beyond repair because of our - your ignorance to what encompassed us
Beauty in words couldn't protect us from the onslaught
That fate had set out for us
The perfect pathetic fallacy for the fairytale ending we never had.

I found a teardrop in the ocean
and cupped it in my hands
as it ebbed through my cockled fingers
I heard you call my name
I turned expectantly to face you
and all I saw was sand