There are certain things -a spider, a ghost,
The income-tax, gout, an umbrella for three -
That I hate, but the thing that I hate the most
Is a thing they call the SEA.

Pour some salt water over the floor -
Ugly I'm sure you'll allow it to be:
Suppose it extended a mile or more,
That's very like the SEA.

Beat a dog till it howls outright -
Cruel, but all very well for a spree;
Suppose that one did so day and night,
That would be like the SEA.

I had a vision of nursery-maids;
Tens of thousands passed by me -
All leading children with wooden spades,
And this was by the SEA.

Who invented those spades of wood?
Who was it cut them out of the tree?
None, I think, but an idiot could -
Or one that loved the SEA.

It is pleasant and dreamy, no doubt, to float
With 'thoughts as boundless, and souls as free';
But suppose you are very unwell in a boat,
How do you like the SEA.

There is an insect that people avoid
(Whence is derived the verb 'to flee')
Where have you been by it most annoyed?
In lodgings by the SEA.

If you like coffee with sand for dregs,
A decided hint of salt in your tea,
And a fishy taste in the very eggs -
By all means choose the SEA.

And if, with these dainties to drink and eat,
You prefer not a vestige of grass or tree,
And a chronic state of wet in your feet,
Then -I recommend the SEA.

For I have friends who dwell by the coast,
Pleasant friends they are to me!
It is when I'm with them I wonder most
That anyone likes the SEA.

They take me a walk: though tired and stiff,
To climb the heights I madly agree:
And, after a tumble or so from the cliff,
They kindly suggest the SEA.

I try the rocks, and I think it cool
That they laugh with such an excess of glee,
As I heavily slip into every pool,
That skirts the cold, cold SEA.

I think of you always. You

Linger in me, like a melody, a heartbeat,
On and on... Oh what if I say it and you just
Vanish? And I am left here,
Empty... Oh, but what if

You don't? What if you are waiting too,
Openhearted but shy, cautious-
Unable to confess? Afraid, like me, to fall.

Only the eyes of an artist could see
the mistake I am,
and yet still think of me as his masterpiece.

Flaw by seemingless flaw
I was created.
Sewn together with intricacy and care
from my delicate skeletal structure
to my foundation of muscle and fats.
Knowledge and hard logic
corresponding with feelings
and favorable decisions.
Pain and tears,
blood and sweat;
is what I am.
And who I am
depends on the crowd I'm in.
Aligned perfectly in body and soul
just like the planets dancing around the sun.

And in all of this
he signed his name
in MY fingerprint;
looking past all my flaws.
Making it obvious
that I am his
and he, truly is, mine.

We will forget the times I breathed your name into the sky
and made it rain.

The thought of you will become a ***** verse in the anthology of
apologies I figured in my sleep.

I will forget the touch of your skin
in the way you forgot how to love.

Every night I lay in bed
Fighting between two choices.
Trying to decide what will hurt less;
Dreaming of what could have been
Or staying awake to delay
Waking up to another day of
What isn't.

I would offer you a coffee
but even that can't warm your frozen heart.

Antarctic stares from Arizona eyes; white knuckles, heavy blue pores.
No, nothing changed you anymore.
Rapid touches to the abdomen, the sound of violins breathed in your mind
and he's not usually like this, you said, "He's actually really kind."

What didn't **** you, left you broken.
And you had misspoken, as your words slurred into tears that never fell,
after a fifth of alcohol and half a night of hell,
as you revealed that you thought without him you were nothing at all.
You whispered this
while I cried to you for the last time through a cellular call,
through an invisible, static, insurmountable wall.  
And I disagreed because I had seen it all:
heavy blues and brave bloodshot brown eyes,
"Please don't, I think there's more to you than you realize."