i cut open the ocean with a razorblade and swallowed its blue
heart whole, it beats inside me now a cold pulse, a metronome
for how time passes engulfed in thoughts of what came before
all this land. i could not stand on water; you could not pull
me up fast enough from your languid repose in the clouds.
the mermaids all laughed and combed their hair while i ran my
fingers over my shaved head and wished for just one bubble of
air that might contain fragments of words that you once spoke
to me. but you never did say those words, and such wishful
thinking only gets me a lungful of salt tinted pink with blood
where the tip of the crescent moon pricked me as you swung
low over my sweet coffin coming to carry me home to a slit
in the ocean where i can forget your face and renounce the sky.