Nestled in my palm, you grow swiftly warm.
For a while I focus on your composition.
And though I’ve asked of people who know these things,
No one can tell me what you are.
The most anyone has offered is conglomerate.
A word to roll around the tongue,
To speak aloud.

A name without meaning.
We met on a beach, when my heart was breaking,
Alongside the November Storm.
Your glaring black and red shot through
With chrysate, milky white. Eyecatching
The stark sign read ‘removal of stones
From this beach is forbidden’.
But I did it anyway – under the darkening sky
No-one saw a thing.
You are different – like me,
At this point in time, displaced in the geography,
We are each others promise of Home.