I am layers
Of conchshell
Over conchshell
Over conchshell
With love songs
And
Your sweet raspy voice
Echoing inside me.
They ask me,
Who is the one
Described in all my poems,
I tell them,
That he's now
An unknown
Who refuses to look at my Poetry,
Even acknowledge it.
Who might as well be wrapped in a bubblewrap,
To protect what's inside.
So that I would have to pop a million bubbles,
Before I reach
His conchshells,
And my winged demons
Would whisper in the air inside them,
The love song
That we created when our breaths synced
And lips fumbled,
And finally,
I would ask him,
Softly, just like the sound of the sea,
If his shells
Ever echoed with one of my poems too.


~RS

- RS