it was a blur.
your eyes wouldn't focus.
I heard you lost your film.
it took you a long time,
shooting away like a star.
but your gaze frames everything
touched by dark and light.
your heart knows no storage limit,
compared to those picture albums.
capture each scene,
in full color and clarity.
save it, remember it.
wait with the process.
your photograph has developed.
now it's clear.

— photograph, he.
(j.m.)

I think,
it's time to go
back home on land.
I leave the waters,
step out of the blues,
before I could drown.

I sink,
each foot entirely
in the sand.
Rooted in place,
the fine grains
anchor me down.

I ink,
your name on
the back of my hand.
I know it well,
and tell my pages:
I love you now.

washed ashore
onto the hands
of a man
I longed for, dearly.

rugged touch,
tarnished shine
and value,
treasured so merely.

back to home
seeking warmth
in the waters; on land
I was misguided, nearly.

then I knew
it was the sea
whom I belonged to
and who loved me so clearly.

looking into
your eyes,
i wouldn't think
of getting lost
in them.

instead,
your eyes
are a getaway
where i find myself.

Your clear eyes,
a sea of accumulated raindrops,
started to ripple
as I touched the surface.

In your depths I dived;
neither sinking nor losing air—
never drowning despite the rough waves
of unchartered waters.

With no fear of trenches
as deep as the Mariana's,
or fear of undercurrents
as mysterious as the Bermuda's,
I sought further to know
why I felt more familiar
in the water than on land.

Floating, swimming,
breathing underwater;
I stayed warm in your gaze,
in the calm of you.

I found myself at home
when I looked into your eyes.