• Vol. 02
  • Chapter 10


It's easy to find the reverb,
The ripples of bass,
If you stop, stoop and stomp
Your fingers longing for the cracks
That retch across the sands.
Sometimes I think I imagine it;
Hair toasted by the heat of the sun
My ear a shell,
Singing sweet nothings.
A lone voice, unamped.
Acoustic has romance
When there are people
In close proximity
To hear
Now it's just me
The sand absorbing
Shaping your movement
Dreading the time
The ocean comes,
In raging
Destructive symphony.