I will draw x's on your spine and smear them off with the salt of my tears. I will listen to

the pulses of your heart thrusting against your heaving chest and tally them on the creases

of your palm. If I dare lose count, you could remind me with the number of breaths you

inhale and exhale, each calming the ripple tides that relentlessly tear apart the sea that lies

beneath your pillow at night. I have never tasted sweeter shoulders, nor have I ever been in

a quarrel with the wind. I  have never met one like yourself, yet I meet you everyday. I have

forgotten your memory, and yet I remember you every hour. It was hard for me to kiss

those seashells goodnight, the currents pulled and tugged them away from me to tuck them in

but I wanted to tuck them away. Oh how I had longed to put them under my pillow, like

my own little secret,  like the  sea underneath yours. The spilling sea filled with dreams that you

could not shake out in the morning dew. It was not sand that had snuck into your hair, they

were simply non-existent desires. I wanted to place those seashells over every "x" of your

spine, like surgery except much sweeter. I will trace  over every spilled droplet of blood

that I may have caused with these shaky hands of mine and I promise you that I will take

them in with gratitude. But I simply cannot. Though my heart still ache and churns for you.

 Churns for every "x" that made each cell of you, every star and constellation that filled the

galaxy inside your chest, I merely cannot. For you my darling, have yet to exist.