A slippery, charcoal, behemoth of a rock
Lying dormant, as if sleeping,
Under the comfort of a seabed.
Waves are crashing onto
Rippling across the weightless,
As though it were hair
Gently being pushed across your face
The almost unnoticeable,
Yet constant breeze
Of the in and outs of your breath
Are the only constant left.
The size of dimples
Are the only remains visible
A last and final reminiscent memory
Of the grace that was once there.
An almost tranquil sendoff
As the water gets pulled back into the expanse
An expanse as deep and as beautiful
As the locks of your hair.
Unconscious thoughts dart through my mind
As quickly as the most nervous fish
Conjuring pictures and images
As vivid as Van Gogh’s
Streaked with lost and quickly forgotten words
Like a smoothed out seashell
Pulled under and out into the sea
To a place more wondrous than the eye will ever see
The shells float away,
Making one last attempt to stay above the water’s surface
To stay conscious.
But the smell of the air,
Mixed with the comfort of the water
Coaxes it back
Like a siren’s song.
Under those waves,
The same everlasting and flowing haven I have fallen into
Flawless shelter of your locks.
The ones that gently touch against my sand-colored skin
Lulling me and inviting me to drift away,
Away, back into the expanse of a dreamland
One almost as endless
As the ocean of us.