For the same reasons that I stay hungry
for dinner and tired for bed, I keep my
heart a little lonely for poetry; that way,
I can imagine your weathered hands against
my pale thighs as clinging starfish – my
fingernails, bleached cockleshells washed up
on the barely evening beach of your back.

Days of ring around the rosies
Pocket full of posies
Ashes ashes
We all fall down.
Days of bluebells
Cockleshells,
Evie ivy over.
Jack and Jill went up the hill
But we all know that it ended badly.
Wasn't it great
When we didn't know the history
Behind our childhood?

Under the burning sun
& on endless dunes,
I went from mirage to mirage,
rode this camel's **** all night
long to get to your sweet oasis.

And there,
I found you lying
in beautiful naked splendor,
cockleshells hung from
your thick raven-hair,
frankincense & myrrh burned.

I melted in your embrace,
kissed your lady-magic
& died in the gaze
of your amber eyes.

Under the burning sun
& on endless dunes,
I went from mirage to mirage,
rode this camel's **** all night
long to get to your sweet oasis.

coughing up sand
thrown by the tide
on the shore we land

just a couple of mollusks
ribbed and tanned
shining in the sun
wearing a coat of raised bands

half broken off
insides feasted on
the wader, sandpiper
and the roving prawn

we don't fit together
as we're not one in the same
but we both washed up
from where it is we came

Glistening in the sun,
Sand can be so much fun.

A towel on the ground,
My worries are now unwound.

Children always laughing,
All the while they are splashing.

Little Birds dart back and forth,
Eating mollusks they work to unearth.

Crisp, clear, blue water,
Always to be seen in this saltwater.

Shells upon shells.
From conch to cockleshells.

Hot sun always lead to ice cream,
To help let off some steam.

So many reasons different for each,
On why the beach is so fun to reach.

Golden cockleshells grace the trees,
Encrusted with the sweet smell of day,
Crackling sounds amongst the bees,
With warnings you'll soon be away,

Cranberries and gravy guiding you home,
To give thanks with your family near,
Here i'll wait for your words alone,
Praying for that day you'll appear,

Biding my time till the festivities end,
Grave anticipation of your return,
Out of sorts and somewhat mad,
For your words i've began to yearn,

This thanksgiving the feast is absent,
As I lurk to feed on the words you grace,
Perhaps some distance may do us some good,
For i'm hungover on your taste,

But I can't deny this addiction,
Transported by the sound of your voice,
My soul captivated without restriction,
A sense of joy looms without choice,

So here is where I bid you farewell,
Think of me and return home soon,
I'll dream of the words that you did tell,
Of how we'll meet under the light of the moon,

We are told to give thanks for the harvest,
But I think this year i'll give thanks to you,
The light within me you've been able to harness,
With the slightest thing that you do.

Time should be filled
with sandy beaches
and sun
cockleshells
and crazy spells –
not wishing
the day be done

It should not be killed
with idleness or the mundane
with things that don't please
or offer release
just doing it the same

blue ***** dig caves
under sandy rocks
and the smell of salt
boats tied to docks

the gulls swoop low
to catch a bite
and plovers wade
as horseflies bite

footprints make a trail
boys and girls building castles
with shovel and pail
green foamy seas

lined with cockleshells
and balmy breeze
driftwood and seaweed
tangled around my toes

and knees
tanning woman lying
on colored towels
as sunburned baby

in sagging diaper howls
coconut oil
permeates the air
as old folks sit

on navy beach chairs
bags of chips and kegs of beer
and hairy chested men
that often stare

a bunch of teens punch
a volleyball over
a long-stretched net
my nape breaks out

in a sweat
riding surfs on boogie boards
dripping ice-cream cones
sandpipers call this their home

as they lie on nests in the dunes
while radios blare 80's tunes
life's troubles out of reach
a typical day at the beach

the pyramids of egypt
swim the seven seas
climb Mount Everest
but I'd not find

a man so soft and kind.
I'd bathe in turquoise waters
on a shore of pink powder sand
among cockleshells and waves

that swell and still not feel myself
without you to hold my hand.
Butterflies, key lime pie and
a cornflower sky don't do a thing

for me if I'm not with you. Morning dew
would look like sweating leaves. And cotton
candy clouds would look as shrouds
on corpses hung on trees.