Upon the blue texture to a shoreline,
Straight to her embrace.
I am for the coil
Without raising myself from the soil,
Without breathing the ocean to a boil,
Without misusing my steps in the toil
To be beside her
In the earth,
In the sand,
In the washed up land
Where dust can be named
The stilled hollowness of my heart.
Her kiss is the same as this wind,
Just a warmth against my coldness.
I am but a phantom that causes
Moans for the tempest,
As she bleeds
Love for the fewest
Grazes of her gentle hair,
Against my cold cruelty.