The worst feeling. Pith. I've had enough, now. Take this and leave me alone. I'm begging you. Vanish. Good night.
Your arms were strong enough to pull time into a blanket, to fuse grains of time into periods of eternity. It never should have existed as days for as long as it felt like months apart. Catastrophic durations of distance, though you never realise how thirsty you are until your body eagerly accepts water.
A dying desert wanderer's mirage. A lonesome soul's company. The half to a parentheses.
I curved into your soft breast to harvest your scent in my lungs, leave you secrets on your ribs and printed poems along your hips. Your flesh crushed time against my elbows. Your skin swallowed silent sighs and serene smiles.
I wish you were picking up shells and holding them up to your ears, to search for waves. You would have heard the ocean collide with the shore; you would have heard return; you would have heard me.
I clung on like you were a piece of driftwood, and floated for miles to the rhythm of your paddling. You washed sea all over my back, rubbed fire into my veins. Dear life, dear life, I held on. I wonder now if I could make a cocktail with thoughts of you that could send me to divine drunkenness. I'd never wanted to kiss you more than at that moment, to trace the boats below your neck to the horizon of where we met.
I could go on for days about those few seconds of my life, in which you turned me right around and sent me back to a sea of confusion. Momentary sense whipped me open to devastation as a repeat offender.
Yet when you left with all the air in the room, I couldn't help but notice you didn't leave smiling.
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