the soft lip of the shoreline bending down to meet me and you. or was it 'you and i'? the syntax of identity a mess of curves and sheets where sighing meets with indecision and indecision yields against the tide. the soft tip of your story that i bit -- -- or was it 'bite'? when I stand still my feet sink deep beneath the layers of your sand. so hold me close against the current, i draw you in amidst the gale, the first soft sip of sunlight that we share between the two of us. the one of us. the core of us, no clouds and such, in sharing understand each other.