What is the purpose?

love is a premature clam

with nothing inside to see.

An empty cave in the water

ridden with stiff eels

tourists ****** themselves through the large-mouth

entrance gaping, but no fish.

A pond,

the torn lotuses

separate from the slimy stem; coated with algae.

Holding my breath

but my head is above the current.

Swimming

yet my body is under dirt and limestone.

Love is a beach

without the sand.

I hear whispers from a shell

and screaming from a seagull

echoing within my carapace;

vibrations floating,

yet I am dead-weight

and love is the ship.

We are the anchor

yet there is no ocean-floor.