Landlocked

You've grown around my heart
like a barnacle on the lost
sunken treasure chest
nestled in the sea's skin. We are drowned lovers,
you and I; you breathe in deep salt smells
that linger on every curl, and
every line. I instead forget to swim when
the storm is coming, and let the sweet
hands of salvation pull me down, down, down
to that bottom. We are reckless and recluse,
hidden away in some nook or cranny waiting
at port for the perfect time to jump ship. The depths call,
but we try not to heed it.
I think of your hands as anchors,
that keep me still when the
waves do nothing but haunt and bleach
my salt stained deck.
And when you're wrapped around me,
you are my mast,
my freedom wing singing
hallelujiah winds at losing sight of land.
Should we grow thirsty, we'll have taste for sea water,
bitter as the plants we harvest and
the words we sow in fallow ground.
The truth is there in all her weathered splendor,
winged and wicked like the tired albatross loosely
bound in twine and string. And should
we grow hungry, the eggs of birds of fish
will taunt our plumped bellied souls into
dreaming of jellied fish and ripped nets;
we are the victims we set our traps to.
So when I jump, you will swallow me whole and keep
me close to that essence I can't own.
And when you set sail, with me on the harbor
buried in wood and stone crosses, remember:
time is a vessel, and us, just the sea.



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I am really upset about the Planned Parenthood defunding. I will talk about that tomorrow.

I am way too tired, and way too happy, to be talking about a sore subject like that.
"Let good things happen"