My heart shakes like The bottle I pour my coffee into. I remember you and I drown and drink the ocean trapped inside, brown and two and a half times lighter than your skin, two and a half times more than the coffee I should be drinking. That night was our last in the same room. You sat beside me to escape your sleepless lonely limbo. My head throbbed and the way my heart raced then
and the way the storm crashes the air and breaks the trees and blows the rooftops and drenches the world -
is the way I refused to swim in the brown seas of your skin. The waters might wash rafts and boats and lifesavers to the shore where I am standing But I know that before the sand and the trees there was a sign that said ‘No Trespassing’.
Intoxicated I stumbled and grabbed a raft of brown arms and stepped on the black stones of your face and slipped into your sandy smile and buried my face into your green shirt waves.
No Trespassing. The words loomed over my head like the clouds that filled up the sky so much that there was no sky - and somewhere out there, like God in the clouds, she was looking at me, looking at the way I grabbed a bottle and swam in her seas.
reread, cringed, thought of deleting (a first draft for a creative writing class) but decided to leave it be.