Tuesday, May 11, 2010

the truest blue of water's real name

when i am a ship, big and hulking with time's weather, having known the timber of many a land inside the splinters of my bones, i will still think of your harbor and cry. and still, sticky with salt, i will burst through the seconds of the rendered days, as a dreadnought through the armor of night's thousand shrouds of shadow. i will not call out your name. i will bury you inside the love i held for you. my wooden heart will become a graveyard, and over my stitched up chest they will put earth. and through an ocean in which each drop of water reminds me of you, i will sail. i will sail. i will sail. i will sail and i will not stop, with time's murderous hammering bearing me always back to that bed where we slept, a night when i was awoken by the moon, and you, still sleeping, raised your head and kissed my bare shoulder blade and then set it back to your pillow. when i asked you later, you remembered nothing.

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