tell me what more i can do. i have opened my veins
to let the sea out, have tried to break the verterbrae
of these old memories with my teeth, but the gulf
sound inside your chest is roaring and i can’t hear
myself yell above it. i give in to white sound, caught
beneath you, and kiss the hurricane of your mouth,
sweeping away buried bones turned brown and brittle.
the sea remembers and this is all i can do. my heart
is a whirlpool sucking you in and you just might be
okay with drowning.