Pearls, I grasp,
sitting on a pale-flesh beach.
The sun is a lion,
talons reaching into the clouds.
I feel below the sand;
there is a hint of sadness there.
Memory, she says to me,
is but a hope for dead dreamers.
She is the sun;
golden, fragrant, world weary.
My love for you wanes with the moon,
she says to me, her voice a silk cord,
bound in wild and delicious colors.
The waves rush toward us.