Sea

The fear that wakes you up in the afternoon when heavy eyelids after long days and the deprivation of yesterday’s nights kick in.

The word that stretches in your mind. So hollow how can you exist so slim in thought and shallow in person, where is the depth how can your waves not coincide and interfere where is your maxima

Tell me when I can go finding the source of your animus, how can I stimulate it. You are looking over everything and I don’t know whether I admire your vulnerability to moderation and compromise or would anyone rather compensate openess of perspective for color

I want to see you; I want your distinct transitions taking different levels and emitting all your different energies I want to see you.

I want to dream your face tonight and imagine the rest of your body, draw out your words and color you with the thoughts of my first impressions.

I want you. To be through you and with you; colliding.

I want to explore your layers and riddle every word so many times, too many times for repetition to be redundant. I want to see you, not look into your soul and your eyes I want to see who you are, your favorite flavors and distinct style of walking across the street. Every single hair of your existence rises when I look at you, I see through you but I don’t see you.

Your transparent body is full of a spectrum of unknown ideas.

I want to see you and I hope you don’t vanish just yet.

Routine Vomit

I don’t know.

A day in every month, I do not know.
Know what, I shrug, not even that I know.

I cough but it isn’t blood I see spilling up from my guts, an endless push coming forth. It isn’t that. It isn’t the vomit that surges as the nerves of my stomach gag. A reflex. I do not know of, because that wasn’t it.
It wasn’t that of hoarse throats and empty winter nights that beg for warmth to come at midnight between the silk sheets; her thighs are shivering. But that is not today. That is now how she feels. And she cannot put the words in paper thoughts. She cannot run from it, it doesn’t go.

Every month it is not her 28 day schedule that strikes. It is nothing she can ration.

Every month there is a day she remembers him but that is not the feeling of him that seeps through her thoughts, stripping her naked of all viable security. That is still not it. She thinks and thinks and knows it will not stop today.

It will sleep within her growing and maybe only the taste of it on her tongue will last the morning after.

She does not know how to rest her head and let it go.

She just dissolves in thought, the salt, her skin, peels off in memories, water, that washes off what didn’t exist in her past.

He is there.
She is shivering.
He offers his jacket, she gets colder.
He holders her, she is still the same.
She walks away, and there she finds some comfort that is agonizing.
She learns how to rest her head without the colors in her mouth.
She rests.
She dives deeper.
She looks to the side and wonders, will she ever be better?