woodandhoney

You came home at dusk that day

and we drank outside where you told me,

When it rains, you feel like the salt in stormy seas

You said, “In the dry desert sun only the forlorn washes over me”

When we went upstairs you laid me down on

a ship floor, asked the moon to sing a song for me

and I felt the waves roll underneath as I let you wash over me

•

You planned your course and I knew I wanted to make good company

We took large barrels of spring water while we sailed at sea

months filled with kisses as heavy as oranges

•

We walked on exotic sands and

I would search far to gather wild fruit for you

But when my fingers got stuck in the brambles that day

when you saw the cut across unsteady hands,

I saw you feel a judgment had been placed on me and

I felt the beating in my throat, like a baby bird trapped of sorts

•

Back at sea, the waves rolled and roared

I said I couldn’t bear to part,

I couldn’t go to sleep without your songs

You smiled and said nothing at all,

and I could feel the beating of wings.

At night I dreamt of giant gilded cages

Of waterfalls and blood

•

You left me back at home;

you said your sea- you said, your sea-

you said- But I feel sick back on land

And I don’t know about boats or the tide

I answer your calls when I can’t ignore them

You talk about the deep and I bite my tongue

No longer wanting to tell you no one feeds me like you do

And how last night I dreamt of a thief without teeth

and drowning in concrete