I have lived my life
on the edges
of cracked crevices,
spending countless minutes
trying not to fall in.
Fingers wave,
tempting me forward
as the tide of emotions
rolls in, lapping
at my heels.
It carries a beachcombers dream
of harsh whispers and
elephant wishes,
of fairy confessions of lust
and flower petals scorched black
by the sun.
Sand is faulty.
The edges of the crevice
grow, crawl towards me.
Ever closer.
Wishes and whispers are faulty.
I need elephant-strength
to pull me out.
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