My Seashore Love

You, my Love, are like the seashore

with its eccentric sand dollars of a light,

whimsical yellow. Have you ever seen them?

The ones that know how to exist in the sand,

on the beach, with only God's simple thoughts.

But you, I won't let the ocean have. No, not even

the small boy that I was, with rubber boots

and young eyes, can take the sunlight's pleasure.

As I stroll at the water's edge you ask me in for

tea with your sea shell saucers and strawberry

seaweed. We sit upon the sea foam as it carries

us repetitively in towards land and then out again.

You were telling me of the oceanic songs which

faeries sing in the form of raindrops falling

from a cloud, and how marvelous it would

be if those songs could be collected before

they sandk below, used by dead sailors in

cavern bars and upon the decks of skeleton ships.

You always tell me of sea things, those trivial

occurrences of another world. Yet, they make me

smile. And so, I always take a little bit of you home

with me, back to importance. I store you in glass jars

or pin you up on my wall. Sometimes, I even put you on

my dresser to look at before I go to sleep at night.

When people ask me about you, I selfishly refrain,

telling them I merely found you on the beach one

day when I wasn't looking. But you and I know better, Love.

-Sean Swearinger-