Even though we’re leagues apart
Measure my heartbeats by ear, sir
Part these waters from my tears
Tell me that you can tell the difference
I know that you’ll leave me as soon as I can
Need someone, anyone, anything, something
Empathizing with me is worthless; I can’t feel
Surely you must see my pain growing
Surely you must hear my heart breaking
Like an explosion;
In slow motion, a tidal wave crashes
This ironclad vessel beginning to thrash
The corroded bolts past their toll
Give way exposing the hull
Capsizing the flood gates,
Negating promise of a safe harbor ashore
Amidst the panic and commotion
Together we sank, into the ocean
Sailing the high seas of impassion
I was impassive, &
Like an anchor
Love plunged to unimaginable new fathoms
Dragging us down;
Perilously we claw hand over fist
The sorrows we drown
Adrift the turmoil and wreckage
Bubbles ascend toward the surface
(Spluttered echoes of our last choked hopes)
Take one last breath
Shallow water blackout,
Shallow water death
There's no turning back now,
You died as you lived
Between the devil and the deep blue sea
There we were, you & me
Dining on lobster
in Davy Jones' locker
Love poems rot,
The sensical knots.
I tie, overflowing, the dread.
The Pickwitkin Heavy,
The Verveberry Wedding.
Such shanks, still stuck in my head.
My memories loosen,
The Stopshift Tallcluesen,
Cut to myself dreaming in red.
Full throttle forward,
I'll sail ever toward,
My untying your knots from my bed.
She calmly unlocks the front door
as the wind flings the screen
through wild tantrums. She droops down
into her dusted rocker, pushing
with her lavender heels to start the sway.
Her sole taps softly,
as the chair creaks onto fallen lacquer
and the porch plays in discord
through dancing lace.
Interwoven hands lie atop her lap
in a sea of navy with floral ships
at its surface. Silver strands
fall from her clouded bun
and a few locks float past her sunken shoulders.
With jaded eyes she looks at the corner
to a poor table, where a cold candle
peaks among a grassy field of melted wax
riddled with burnt fuses.
And near the candle, a dusted white hat
remains anchored to the wooden surface.
She can still smell the stale cigar smoke
lingering in the room. “He’ll be here soon,”
she thinks as her daze slowly sets in.
The world seems quiet
as she fills her eyes with sleep
and the chair continues its march.
Her hands unlock from their grasp
and the screen door gently knocks.
the wind has caught up to us once again,
billowing around the spinnaker
as she dips the helm ten degrees starboard.
we've reached six knots,
a nautical dilemma when the cat's paws
signal the departure of a strong gust.
she rides the wind-waves,
a natural captain, she is,
as we continue on home.