The Sea

Your eyes were filled with galaxies and nebulas and ever-expanding openness.

And I looked upon you with my own. They are made of famines and pestilence, cold calculating madness and, most of all, the reflection of you.

You are time, you have never happened, but you are happening now, and have yet to happen.

I cried for you, and they laughed at us and it felt like hell and pain and heaven and every thing that love was supposed to be— did you miss me?

I didn't think so. You were so grand, and I just wanted to be close to you. How are humans to love the sea?

Masochism

Sometimes I can feel the universe—

Quivering and rippling trough me in great, thunderous waves.

I am terrified.

I am elated.

I feel everything.

Every bee sting,

Every hot night spent waiting,

I am tired.

I can feel a scream climb into my throat—

A leap of adrenaline,

When the abyss stares back at me.

But I am silent.

I bow my head, and smile at passers by.

I might be dying.

slowly, like a daffodil—

I am wilting and

crumbling onto

myself, shrinking into a

cold dormancy.

I am unsure if

I will outlast the frigid

winter of my youth.

I closed my eyes and it was pitch dark. I squeezed them tight and before me colors danced and melded like lovers do.

I was not alone in my colorful darkness. I could feel someone, a woman. I knew she was beautiful. She smelled like sorrow.

The woman who stood before me was not young. She was as old as the sea and the moons and the gods.

I spoke to her, and my words came out dark and lyrical and foreign, for this was not my language.

I said, "What is the way?"

She leaned to me. As lovers did, as the dancing colors did, closer to me. Her cool hands were on my heart spot.

She spoke. There was the lilting tone of a smile. Her words came out dark and lyrical and foreign.

She said to me, so quietly I thought she meant it only for herself. She said, "It is you. It has always been you."

I shut my eyes still tighter. There were no dancing, living colors this time.

I was falling.

I fell.