❝ p o l l y ❞

{ 1 }

the sound of my name

might not ring bells

or uncover wonders

or flip the ocean upside down,

but the sound of yours

to my ears

would taste like melted ice cream

on a scorching day

and would sound like yourself

calling out to me

while we hid and sought

or like

the insides of the seashells

we collected.

are they still under your bedside table?

I hid and waited till you would

find me, but

you never did and I think,

I think

I might be lost.

j.c.