your eyes are riptides,
undertows,
the current sweeping me off my feet:
pulling me under until i cannot breathe,
drowning me.
in a sea of people, i always search for you,
hiding across the crowded room.
sharp relief of your jaw line
--sculpted,
a statue of david--
your soul smothers me when you smile,
lights up those eyes
like the moonlight reflecting the choppy
ocean water at night.
in a sea of people, i always find you,
gentle touches like stingrays and eels,
sugar-coated shark teeth
sinking into me,
windswept across the beach with
cawing seagulls hunting clams.
your words are too sweet
--candied,
falsified for personal achievement--
smothering me in my sleep when you
trill your fingers to say hello.
in a sea of people, i always miss you,
shadowed,
a ghost of what once was and what will be,
things that i saw and things i will see.
the tide tickles at my ankles
as i stand on the edge of the horizon,
searching for your silhouette
in the darkness.
the sun has set and the tides will rise
--moonlight,
moonlight in your eyes--
but i am accompanied only by silence.
the ritual
of a faded dream that
crossbreeds with vague metaphors
and bad similes.
sweet dreams, great barrier reef.
goodnight, my darling.