driftwood spittle

empty like driftwood
i have shape but no weight.
drag me from the dribbling stream, friend
and lay me out to dry;
i'll be fine, i promise.

milky eyelids peel back to review the demure sky
in all its bashful silence.
like slipping clouds,
i realize,
some lie awake on pebbled shores
waiting for age to bring satisfaction.

refusal. ambition.
my back lifts off the sandy bank & i stand to face you.

do not let me grow old and stiff
sucking on spittle instead of lips.
let me roam where i'm called;
and if it's with you,
do not question the journey.