Hollowed out so you could float,
but girl, I’m an ocean, never
believe your safe in a boat,
because your tiny raft
is empty, but could be filled
with the endless sea
of my humanity.

Sink into me.

What you think you need—
what you’ve cultivated into
flowers— I have as seeds,
can I not give you these things?
Surely they are yours to grow.
And I already know which flower
you’d find your favorite.

Sink into me.

Do you have a plan to find dry land?
Surely I will never take you there,
every wave cast from wind—
blown from your own lips—
waters the seeds you
spread yourself.

Sink into me.

Think your lover can paddle
you through my swells,
whirlpools and storms?
I will send my triangle,
her name Bermuda,
and girl, Three
is a Magic
Number

Silly girl, to think you’d float
across an ocean who dreams
of breaking dams, flooding
plains, drowning cities
and civilizations.  You will sink into me,
and be the ancient unforgettable beauty
of the sunken ship, lost at sea,
filled with gold, aging wine
and still currents,
never running cold.