so it can remain unrequited
just so i can know i can
at the core, always a boy, never grown up,
and what of this word
-love-
it's visual balance a foil to how to viscously it rocks the ships inside of me
yes, cut me open and no blood will spill, simply a deluge of salt water
merchant ships and war ships and fishing ships
all doing their business with God as the wind,
but some ships have holes
and some ships raise no sales
and some ships never left the harbor
and lay, rotten in the deep near my knees,.
And when the sun rises, sometimes it too is God,
but sometimes, it's her.
or her shadow.
I thought I worked you out of me!
beat you like an obnoxious slave,
kneaded you like a resilient knot,
and I have.
this sun bares not your face, but rather the place you opened up.
the void i would not have to have to fill,
had you not lived there once.
my face green from unsure legs on this turbulence,
oceans stirred at the thought of love
what then of seagulls?
my own insecurities?
screeching and begging and stealing scraps just to survive,
no,
no thats my confidences
see, while i am the sea, i'm primarily the wreckage strewn about my knees
And i think that by pulling you down we'll somehow trade places
you now with the barnacles and I,
in the wind and sun
in the wind and sun
tossed by the wind
and delighting in the sun
in the wind and sun
but,
life is a compass, not the sea
and i am the needle and the north
and there is my problem.
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