on you

I rest like a tiny shell

on the tip of a sandy, wet fingertip

at the beach.....

it is a fearful thing, my dearest heart.

this power you have over me

is like breath

that can blow that shell

away and

make me a castaway forever in the surf

which softly curls up over our feet.

I resent and crave that breath--

the tension of knowing

how one careless moment

could destroy me

and make me only one tiny

sea jewel among the shifting grains

in salty, cleansing, blue-green seas

and there is no way to know

whether this is good or bad.....

am I meant to be one among many

in your bucket of treasures

or am I different and wonderful and miraculous?

tell me....

do not make me guess...

my position on your fingertip is too perilous.

and I could be lost forever

in a sigh

to

myself

and

to

you.