woodandhoney

I found him in the desert; he said he was a farmer

But I’m certain he’s a fisherman.

He must be to make me love him like how the sea exists

(perfect in its infinite fluidity, knowing it must be its own inescapable destiny)

And each night he turns me into a small boat; my harbor two arms.

My sleep is heavy with oceans now,

I’m bound in blues and greens

and I wake seeing the world through watery eyes.

Each morning, hating the moment I have to leave the heat of our bed and the soft roughness of his beard that reminds me of rope,

At work, I try not to look out the big window panes too often,

it makes me feel absent and restless for him–

I close my eyes, I feel the sun sinking into me,

smell the lightest scent of salt in the air,

reminding me of the taste of his skin–

It’s best not to look, inevitably, I look all the time.

I wonder why he has never asked me what his love is like

He must already know:

How he makes me feel like a mermaid on land and like the moon lighting the night.

Terror and wonder filling one breath as I try not to drown in the desert

Tagged: sea mermaids love