We Crumble Scallop Shells

there is a break in the words and the
space on the street,
there is a break in the time it takes me
to digest the tea and the time it takes
for me to wreck the shell you have placed
here in my hand,
there is a break in the lavender lines the
scallop drew when he still lived here,
there is a break in the size of the ocean
and the time it takes to travel,
there is a break in the words and the
space between us, on the street,
in the room and here (our removal
is coloured purple by the bottom of the
shell, purpled broken by it falling
apart in our hands) -

i wish i could draw layers and layers
of salty flesh around my words so you
could understand them.