The shell is not depicted in its natural form
on a mantel piece;
friends with a trinket box and Russian dolls.
A miniscule conch of wrinkles
retiring upon marble slate.
Silk touch lost in time.
Time ran its course and it's coarse.
The body still traps a sandy musk,
hosts waves of resonant recollection.
Cracked now,
but when destroyed,
sculpted pearl becomes pearl sand.
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