When she wears white shells tarnished in the sea,
we feel her fingers at our skin, drawing eclipses in
deep and perfect circles, coalesced within our minds;
husks of dreams appear to linger, as brittle and confined.
Halos wrapped around our necks - corroded into our spines,
when she wore those white shells and the ring that let her in
she can't recall my voice or the spectre of my eyes.
She knows that she might love me, in another life.