Stomach somersaulting as the vessel cuts through frothing waves. Seventeen-year eyes split open long enough to photograph the ocean.
It wrecks my head.
Jerked back to a svelte boy on the green. Crouched with parts convex—awakening new territories. Every movement rippling through memory.
Until my mere existence is ad nauseam, personified.
Let me just slap, slap, slap the face until blood is ice water. Shuffling naked feet onto the quilted altar. Bottle of wine to consummate the lie.
This unsheathed saber will be my dread eraser.
Guts back-flipping the first time I take it all in. A lubricated overture until a symphony of deliciousness rushes through my thirty-year spine.
Alas…every crest, crashes.
Every joy, disposed of.
& when night comes, I’m alone in this tide pool. Running low on oxygen, but I’ve got oodles of unsynchronized love.
The wet blade snaps it all in half, until the cobalt surface sings of doom—impending.
Enveloped into the foam.
Wrecked in the head.