Just a Quick One…

Shell

Smooth to stroke in pocket,
shedding golden dust
into the soft handkerchief
nest. Always at risk of being
turfed out, lost
forsaken or crushed.

Keepsake signifying
seventeen years stretching out
into the sands wind blown,
covering the tracks of wilful
serpents sidewinding
into oblivion.

Fragile, moved from place to
place–the chipped saucer
no longer a safe haven,
dessicated skin no longer
licked by waves,
all echoes expired
inside empty carapace.

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Just a Quick One…

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