I enter her stomach
with my own tired legs,
and I whisper
to the heaving metal hisses beneath me;
as perhaps she only yearns to hear
a voice addressing her
in between the sardine packed
after hour rush.
A guiding noise
through the fluorescent lit cabin full of
colourful
hollow
people.

Perhaps she waits for
an
“I know your name.”

what if she was stripped away from her manufactured number?
And perhaps she wants to know the names of the places where she's been,
and where her life began.
Perhaps she wants to know the places she’ll go
before she ever goes there.
I harbour all the knowledge,
any yet lack the ability to speak her language.

I print a hand onto the smooth walls of her insides,
pressing my ears against her cool glass
to hear her constant ringing
and unstable heart.
She brings me along on
her predetermined journey,
and I watch as parasites filter in and out
of the gills
she cant control