as far as you could guess
like I am
Sifting soft sands along the shallows
but I am
Drifting hopeless through dregs and hollows
Be still, the same sensation through your fingers
falling short of solace as it lingers
And you are my
bohemian driftwood cast but unbroken
anchorite of axioms, solid and oaken
Splintering in flux,
a scintillating crux;
as in, the crashing waves
of your ocean eyes
carving cobalt caves
In my tide pool guise
