We perceive the deep
like some siren song
sinking depths below
where our skin ripples
and runs laps around
and around and around
the surface tension
and cool breaking breezes.

The sunken sand and
rusted portholes
don't draw down
the moisture in our skin.
Next to the slowly sloping
dunes of deep
we are a skin-shod Sahara.

We are pulled by and against gravity
because, in fact, the bleak black
crushing back against our ankles
begs for the darkness we hold
shackled out of sight.
The death of the sea finds
the secrets in me
and it makes them it's own
as it swallows me whole.