I call them mine,
These grains of sand,
On this neat-freak beach.

One for each fleeting thought.

Some black. Some white.
But who am I to say.

I just feel their texture,
Slipping through my fingers.

I fight the current,
Rage against the tide.

Hoping you're just beyond the next wave.

I will stay here,
Stand my ground.

Until I find you,
And your grains will mix with mine.

And we will have,
A most beautiful mess.