Embedded in each cell, your memory of cold. And if you could shape clouds with your breath, grab fistfuls of pastel air, if stars could spell out your name, you'd still need your disguises. So stay just for now. Lie on your back. Let your fingers uncurl.
Sleep here is like no other.
An hour is a night. You sink into the sand. Your breath goes in, out with the surf, escapes as you try to hang on, give in finally at the point where your drunkenness and waves collide. Then stand naked in sea caves. Whisper in the reeds.