Fallen arms

Upon the blue texture to a shoreline,

Recedes me

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,

Gentler touch,

Against my cold cruelty.