shells

He was far away and he wrote me a letter,
He whispered in my ears
how he longed for us:
"The shells, shaped like our bodies would nevel feel."
Like we were forever unable to feel each other,
As the ocean fills every grain of sand with its embrace.

But we did meet, somehow,
Under a mushroom tree - which could never be real
And then the rain fell down.

He carried our baby
As he coughed.
Perhaps because of the cold.
And he was sick.

He tried to hide it.
The baby shouldn't hear,
Shouldn't feel
The cough and the cold.