And he was
the ebbing of the waves.
I was dry land.
My seashore body
always yearned
his cool touch.
But he was going
as soon as he was coming,
and, well,
I was landlocked.
Every time 
we crashed together,
I knew we'd be but brief.

Oh, he would depart
and take with him
small granules of me.
Yes, I would wash away;
he'd leave me feeling less
than what I once was.

Now, I am a 
mighty sandcastle
crumbled.
Knocked down
by some boy
who likes the feel
of wet, broken things
between his cringer-cracks.

Who would like
such a thing as that?
Who could like such a thing?