razorshell

The touch of the felt tip was the most love I ever knew.

Abandoned dead and washed up I was scoured clean, almost to nothing, by tides of sand when hand-in-hand lovers picked me up and initialled me.

So I became someone’s cherished two as one. And I lived an afterlife on a shelf with sight of the sky, and photographs and sweet memories for company.

Until two became two again, and I an ill reminder – discarded, castaway, jetsam, trash on the street for collection by gulls.

Daily Post: Ghost

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4 thoughts on “razorshell

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