[i tire of the sea…]

i tire of the sea. i want to be buried in the pale earth
of your eyes, wrapped in the air you carry with you,
womb-like. tell me stories that don’t have any water
in them, where i don’t drown. i touch your face with
fingers rough and whitened, open my mouth to tell
you how much i love you and a scarlet fish spills out
from between my lips. the fish eyes us dubiously,
then shimmies down the kitchen drain. we become
sparks of air and breath of fire, leaving memory to
dissolve on that shore, old tears staining sand.



  1. Words to tell a tale by. I believe it is your first sentence that makes me hurt. The sea has been a part of my soul to the extent that I search for it in other’s eyes. And that is why the sea breaks MY heart. How beautiful the conversion of liquid to words in your work. Beautiful. :)


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