I am an ocean
All men are
But especially me

You can look and see
Now for yourself
And also this

Within my name
Can you see?
The Sea?

Although I often try and speak
In subtle tongues
I have no other language than this
Or so it feels
At times it feels

Let the wind and rain on this dreary day refresh your mind, and seep into this, the very corners of your soul. That way we can drink in the storm together. Instead of our midweek coffee, hot, we'll brew this Friday morning cold, and sip until the weekend appears. Polite and unfolding, as the packet of paper and its peers, for the cream is sweet enough for the cold brew itself. And so I ask of you. Would you drink in a metaphor or two with me, just for a break? In order to take away, from the truth of day which has yet to grow but an hour old. Let the wind and rain suppress all thought, as we sit beside, in the room of old. Breaking, waiting for the will-less voice which always seems to sleer and say...get back to work you sleepy, seeping, sipping souls. Take your supposed spice coffee calling called cold brew and go.

That kind of kiss is an intersection
Like a small stream
Where two oceans meet

How they’ve tossed and turned
Precariously
And endlessly

End over end
Until afterwards
Experienced vicariously

Like the saltwater winds
Which whip and whirl
And swirl the sand

So I am turned at the intersection
At the memory which ends
Where the ocean began

She’s always walking away
And at a pace that’s too fast for me
And even though I walk alone
And rather quickly
She is always walking steadily
Away from me

Signing up for this certain road
Foreseeable or not
Be it windingly long, or deafeningly smooth
Makes no difference to me
Because to get to the end of it
To the end of it all
And to drive on like this
Is to get to be with, and be beside you