The sea should never be compared to human emotions. It may be gentle or rough, but always in control. Humans never subscribe to that, cannot be gods, only the fallen...
We lay in the bed, in the apartment overlooking the sea, sex drying itself upon our skin, when I said to her:
"Imagine your hole but that you're inside yourself, looking at it from the opposite angle, and you see this penis, wet with your secretions, rise towards you, vanish, and then return again and again, rhythmically so that you begin to nod your head in time and outside your gasps are doing the same. Suddenly, the movements quicken, thrilling you higher - and then it stops. This bloated purply penis is there; swimming in the liquids of you and it-"
"Hey," she said.
"Yeah," I replied.
"Let’s fuck."
His thirst for rock ‘n roll shriveled in the shadow of the music she drummed in him. He kissed the tongue of an angel birthing his daemon. Her smile a sunrise in the storm of them. His favourite breath. His coagulated heart.
Time chasms a compliment.
In the throes of coffee and beach walks, I repeatedly told you that you’re the most beautiful woman. In the aftermath, truth is awkward, making me sound weak. Thankfully, the telephone cord tied my tongue before I could dial.
But I don’t mind being a bit weak, so I’m putting my life in a poem and sending it to you. For extra measure, I’m blowing a kiss, hoping that that it’ll bury itself beneath your skin and glow.
Left leg, ribs and left arm flush against the sheet, he pressed his face into the folds of the duvet and thought of tears until he fell asleep into nothing and later a dream that awoke him to semen in his hand.
Ripped and torn,
of this he’s born,
a hopeful lust
and dreams in rust.
Ours was the greatest love affair that never existed.
I was game, and you were gone.
Fuck.
[The pain of youth, only important until one realises poverty, sickness, corruption, war and genocide]