The Waves

And when  I am overflowing with feeling,
What is left to do but write?

Let it all pour out from my fingertips
And leave me vaguely empty
Staring at the ceiling and fading out
Exhalations disembodied in gas and glass

Light hazy and untouchable, untraceable
against soft, rust marred skin

Lying here, letting it all go into the wrinkles of grey fabric,
so alike to the sea

I feel myself becoming one
Like the storm in my chest has settled into ripples
that pass through my body in gentle waves of feeling and apathy,
a comforting warmth

like sun and sand on my back on beach days
My childhood was salt encrusted and sweet
My cheeks perpetually dusted with freckles

I rose, my feet lifted by those masses of water
that were somehow dark and clear
I flew, my fingers separating in sea foam

Up and down and down and up
There is a rhythm to everything

And breathing in and out
I allow this feeling to fade into the waves of my chest,
the waves of my coverlet.

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