I lay there for a month, a year, a week. Taut and spellbound. Carving the sand with the arches of my body, waiting.
You polished my curves with salt, traced me with foam fingers. Rocked me with your push-pull, insistent and consuming. You chaffed me, made me softer, made me rougher. You were high and low, and I was worn away by your tides.
When your waves had ceased lapping I was still there. Mineralized.