Why am I still crunching
sand between my teeth
and digging it out from
underneath my nails?
I gargle with granules
in every sip I drink,
and between the folds of my skin,
deeper and deeper it sinks.
It tastes like you:
rough, uncomfortable,
defiantly lingering in the
crevices of my baggage.
And I’m grinding grits into my gums
and chewing on grains of sand
and they’re weighing down my shoulders
and I ache from the added grams
And it was a miserable adventure:
us, at the beach.
Yet here I sit, an idiot,
still overthinking the sun and the sea.