You have curled around my feet to warm my soles, and I have dipped my toes into your ocean.
I waited to wade into the waves, terrified of the undertow.
All my life, I have marched towards the horizon. Here, it ends, and another
I cannot voyage into your depths for I would sink straight to the bottom.
You cannot climb my mountains, for the air would suck you dry.
So, side by side, surf by sand, we hold that line between us
As if we were holding hands.
Silent eddies ripple in your wake while I weave a trail
into the sandbanks.
We have scavenged for salt and found only fresh water.
We have grated on each other’s shores as coarse vespers and felt ashamed to hear the echoes. The winding wind sings above the metronome of the surf to
steal our song from under us. The lungs of the Earth overwhelm our timid tin-alley tunes.
Maybe, when we run out of wind to whisper with,
we will shatter our stony secrets in the vacuum of space and sing for loss and absence. For now, it is all too far away to consider. The tenderness of youth hides its hopes in the wild flowering of our blushing faces.
These are the few paltry gifts we harbour from the forces of fear:
warm breath, torn tickets, headless beer.
I kiss your eyes and lick the salt from my lips.
Such hard candy.
My swollen tongue ballooning between my gums is like blown glass