Drunk, we walked west to the ocean,
drop soup and sake,
sloshing in our guts.
You would marry in twenty days.
I stayed close,
swallowing the words
that would’ve ruined it all.
In seven years,
I will have a son.
You will bury yours.
We will wonder - quietly -
if souls can be traded,
if grief moves
like a current
between blood that is not blood.
The tide was electric,
a woman waded in,
cupped bioluminescence
like an ember from the deep.
We stood apart from the others,
two men
bone-wet and wind-bit,
trying to scratch our names
into blue light,
signatures gone
before the next wave came.
I never told you the future.
I let the dark reclaim our feet.
You laughed,
drunk and perfect,
and I looked away
as the sea
turned the sand
back to stone.
Aug 6, 2025
Aug 6, 2025 at 7:52 PM UTC
Drunk, we walked west to the ocean,
drop soup and sake,
sloshing in our guts.
You would marry in twenty days.
I stayed close,
swallowing the words
that would’ve ruined it all.
In seven years,
I will have a son.
You will bury yours.
We will wonder - quietly -
if souls can be traded,
if grief moves
like a current
between blood that is not blood.
The tide was electric,
a woman waded in,
cupped bioluminescence
like an ember from the deep.
We stood apart from the others,
two men
bone-wet and wind-bit,
trying to scratch our names
into blue light,
signatures gone
before the next wave came.
I never told you the future.
I let the dark reclaim our feet.
You laughed,
drunk and perfect,
and I looked away
as the sea
turned the sand
back to stone.
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