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.