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It's a little cold
in between my covers,
You won't even look at me,
but it doesn't kill you.
Do you not get cold
as the sea does in the freezing winter?
The ocean tide, carrying me away.
I want to feel the sand between my fingers,
the salty water across my chest,
I wish you saw
what I see,
amidst your crisis of being.
Sweeter than an orange;
you let bitter rawness
fill your core.
Foggy clouds all over,
hiding the color
of the sand.
You don't have
to be cold,
but you choose to.
Feel the sand in between your fingers,
the salty water across your chest,
Silky smooth anxiety at the thought of
what could have happened.
-my self between dusk and dawn