She lies to the world that the five percent is all there is to sea, but she wanted him to feel the depths deeper than there was to see. She needed him to anchor and not let her slip like the sand through finger, She needed a love that left an everlasting effect linger.
He stepped on the same grounds, Looking for a love that saved him from his drown. On the outside he was tough as steel, Deep inside he could no longer feel. He hummed songs from the spirited waves, Drove deep into them to rescue her from coral caves.
He was the Persian Gulf and she was an Indian Ocean, Yet they breathe salty summer air and gaze at the same clouds in motion. She flew the skies, wondering if she lost him behind a floating cloud, And went into places, she knew she wouldn’t be allowed. Meeting him would be a miracle she thought, Her chances were drying out faster than water during a drought.
There she stood at the Arabian Gulf in the warm sea breeze, There was something about her that put his heart at ease. Breathing the raw summer air, Locked in his view paralysed by the depths she saw in his stare.
He lifted an empty shell and poured the ocean in, His charms travel pore to pore and loving him felt like a sin. Her eyes had storms that were painted in grey and silver, Knowing she felt the dagger, his love would **** her.
Pink and said to be mean Your tentacles tend to scare me You're often alone, are you lonely? Drymonema larsoni... don't worry We can be friends, just don't sting me..
Native to the Mediterranean, Caribbean, and The Gulf of Mexico.. Searching for Moon Jellies and feasting once they're found They wrap their tentacles around- them and drag them in What a cruel fate? you may think that but we do the same thing.
Hues of blue and gray With a succulent sweetness That begs to be savored In the briny waters off the sea They lead a life unseen Scavengers in warm water A lazy afternoon Wire mesh and day old fish Chicken necks on a string Baited traps dropped in left in wait Edgewater shallows and a lot of time One by one they come Chasing that string to the shore One by one they come Pull up the trap and catch what you can Fill the bucket with sweetness There is nothing quite like A blue crab Saturday afternoon
A violent lullaby. A whole sucker. Even then, quiet. Water is sororal. Waves squeezing out water. Water, water is a mouth. In its precision, it is so practical, there is no use for tongues or banks of teeth, exact like sea urchins in the mud.
Static. There, precisely that noise. Not at all a tick. Hear it tucked in the tide. Observe its shape, observe what it does to you.
Feel it all at the beach. Feel it in your sleep.
A slight brine, a wet resonance, trinkets of sand under callouses.
Still, aqueous static. The water is a python, a monster puzzle, a heavy choking, an oily fruit. Florida sinks beneath the waves.
A gulf of emotions lies deep between him and her right now, she stands unmoved for long on her island of grief.
He stands on the firm land just an earshot away waving frantically at her, as if everything is alright. She just struts towards him a bit, her face still inscrutable, as if she has completely forgotten her role on the play she is in.
Now, in a boat he goes around the island and urge her to take a plunge; is she afraid to jump and swim in the cold water or she likes it there alone, though cut off, from mainland, comfortable in that island?
The jazz band playing in the background sensed the change , stunned, has fallen mute.