Night brings its wetness to beaches in your soul.

...do you know that I hang on your every word?

fragmented, mellifluous, sincere or lying
joyful or tragic; mundane or profound.

I walk along the stretches of our conversations
that span over the sands of time,
collecting words that are special to me
as if they were pieces of beach glass.

the good ones sparkle beautifully in the light;
they jangle in my pockets
and make me smile,
filling my heart with a foolish hope.

even if you don't mean them the way I want you to,
they are all I have.

I take the rarer bad words, too.
those are the shards that split my palms,
but still I cling to them
as blood drips into the sand.

I'd like to think that
my words end up on your beach, too.
but the words I need to say
that I need so desperately for you to hear
get dashed on the rocks before they reach you.