I am drowning in the short-wave silence of your presence.
You are the lapis lazuli ground into a pigment
so rare it was once worth a kingdom.
I find you in the crushing weight of the benthic zone,
where the pressure is a ghost’s embrace
and only the bioluminescence of the soul provides a guide.
You are the morpho butterfly’s wing—not a pigment,
but an interference pattern of light,
an architecture of diffraction that exists
only within the specific geometry of my gaze.
I long for the sapphire chill of your skin,
a drowning that feels like returning to the saltwater womb
of the deep Atlantic.
Jan 18
Jan 18, 2026 at 7:46 PM UTC
I am drowning in the short-wave silence of your presence.
You are the lapis lazuli ground into a pigment
so rare it was once worth a kingdom.
I find you in the crushing weight of the benthic zone,
where the pressure is a ghost’s embrace
and only the bioluminescence of the soul provides a guide.
You are the morpho butterfly’s wing—not a pigment,
but an interference pattern of light,
an architecture of diffraction that exists
only within the specific geometry of my gaze.
I long for the sapphire chill of your skin,
a drowning that feels like returning to the saltwater womb
of the deep Atlantic.
