What's Over Doesn't Matter

An overhang drips
over stories of mist
which condensates on a marble.
It grows sticky
with honey-dew
and the dew of rain
on slivers of leaf greens
on the edge of the desert.
A cool sway
with the offshore
roar of water;
interconnected dew drops
stumble over themselves
to be on top and bottom
of the stones.
They rub the rocks clean
and foster growth
of happy slime in the cracks
where they crumble apart,
like dew drops from a breath
of crystallizing blue sky.
The roar of the marble
falling and rolling in in-
describable wetness
is as loud as the shouting
dew drops themselves.

I was really tired in creative writing, and I'm still not feeling inspired in the way that I'm supposed to for my project... but here, have some sleepy sub-conscious, sub-par writing!