pelagic hearts sink fast,
intercostal routines never cycle to dead standstill:

we've drowned, at last!

taking vicious inbetween gulps of night air, stealing unsatisfactions,
meagre half-lung fills.
tread the water,
watch it grow
from clean nothing
to the murk of azure, affections and
crowding of teeth on that
vast sandy below,
miles down in the darkness,
husks of hope,
filter-fed,
through experiential banks and
cut down to bled chum.

and me,
here;

I wonder why,
you're so sad,
with the world in your palm.