Stoned

By Des Mannay

I'm like a pebble on a beach
with shingle running over me—
A scraping of ecstasy
with the passing of the tides
which are over too soon,
and I am left alone again
With the sun beating down on me—
bleaching me white
and baking the residue of salt
Until I crack—
at least inside I feel I do
But this is never really true
Appetite's whetted by the sea in you—
in reality
you were a piece of shingle
which was soon past
And only myself, the sun and sand
are still here
The skimming stone of life goes on.