Salt doesn’t taste the same.
The currents are eroding, not calcifying.
Going the way of corals,
The way of bones.
Exposing the tender parts
That you were never meant to see.
The tides have washed out vocabulary.
A concept unarmed with pretty weapons,
A myth unsure of it’s own existence,
Ruminating under the insipid weight of years and forgotten synonyms.
You haven’t been by lately to adore me.
Incandescence once lapping the surface,
Drifting down beneath a tapestry
of diatoms and lore.
Fading out the noise to an undulating sigh,
Labyrinths full of ocean,
The buzz of someone’s else’s static slinking through.
Let me think on this.

© Accidental Tentacles 2020


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