Till I’m Dust

I will be here till I’m dust.

My hands will wither.

My feet will prune.

 

My hair once lush and soft

shall fall and mix with seaweed.

My tears will crystalize

 

to be carried off as trinkets for seagulls

impressive to them; not enough to attract the one

I want most.

 

When my eyes no longer open

my body shall mold into the soil.

I will be here till I’m dust.

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