Conch shell murmurs mingle with the temporal beat
where time is not measured in hours but in
layers of salt upon skin, breaths
woven like strands in the sands.
Perpetual pulse not of hearts but currents—rippling;
the sea has its own tempo, tick of tidal clock
echoing eternity against ephemeral flesh.
Notice how even the stars listen, spinning slowly,
alignment found through sound.
Can you hear it?
The truth ebbs
weaving through whispers.
It's the melody of whispers bathing
cool against warm recollections
pouring through seashells like
tea through china fragile yet strong;
seconds turning tides in cycles cryptic,
chemical dance upon sandy shores;
speak
read
breathe.
Remember when mermaids sung kisses lost?
ripples echo every unsaid word, reserves of myth.
Follow this tide to calm; find answers
trailing silver behind your thoughts—
await here in silence the dialogue
washed upon waking seas,
footfalls of soft waves breaking.
synchrony
concrete revelations
hidden frequencies