the pulse in the palms
of shaking hands, reaching
–always reaching
for the
sea as she carries away
a bottled message, floating
–forever floating
the horizon
grows in midnight eyes
a new sun, rising
–always rising
and the
old chests of vacant lovers
will root us, blooming
–forever blooming
in the
sea, we are wrecked tragedies
wooden-hearted boats, sinking
–always sinking
it tastes
like the sweetened rage of defeat
but keep those sails, adjusting
–forever adjusting
we’re not
drowning, we’re surviving.
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 10:00 PM UTC
the pulse in the palms
of shaking hands, reaching
–always reaching
for the
sea as she carries away
a bottled message, floating
–forever floating
the horizon
grows in midnight eyes
a new sun, rising
–always rising
and the
old chests of vacant lovers
will root us, blooming
–forever blooming
in the
sea, we are wrecked tragedies
wooden-hearted boats, sinking
–always sinking
it tastes
like the sweetened rage of defeat
but keep those sails, adjusting
–forever adjusting
we’re not
drowning, we’re surviving.
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