The Shell Pendant

The shell hangs on a golden string asymmetric lines curved together in the valley that roots my neck a picture inside I keep on holding. Cheap cloths on a public beach, the young us playing catch, a moment in colors of chess, caught by a since lost lens. It holds all those stormy nights I came to sleep by your side, all the "how was your day"s of the greening of the leafs. The cold of the suns that set shed of that and other salt and dried, pressured into pulp holds the bones in a pole. Me, a flag to the wind of time tight to it gaze the reviewer, it is that shell of once upon my compass to where I've been. But the tide keeps at my ankles resigned to rob under my feet the desert that there stood steady as the clock's beat. The day will come it will win when of this shell I lose grip and holding on to a gem won't brace me for the slip. Because it is your history the concrete ground the future is built upon.