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Mar. 23rd, 2025 04:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
calgabrielA thousand thoughts inside a thousand shells:
At low tide we fetch them out, salt stings the little scrapes on my tired fingers
The ripples in the water move too quickly; I don’t see my own reflection.
I ask you what I look like but you don’t answer. I wish you could hear me.
On the sand we rest, the end of the day. Skin stretches, itching as it dries.
Our harvest is rich, wet and deep; enough to feed a king and his camel.
If only it was edible.
At low tide we fetch them out, salt stings the little scrapes on my tired fingers
The ripples in the water move too quickly; I don’t see my own reflection.
I ask you what I look like but you don’t answer. I wish you could hear me.
On the sand we rest, the end of the day. Skin stretches, itching as it dries.
Our harvest is rich, wet and deep; enough to feed a king and his camel.
If only it was edible.