The last time I loved someone
was when the waves washed his name away in the sand
too late for him to actually leave,
but he's stayed with me
the way the tides will continue to gently rock.
I know we're lost
the way those corked message bottles are at sea,
a proclamation that remains factual
yet forgotten.
He loved me and I loved him,
though that seems to have slipped his mind these days.
But I found you among the seashells
while I was searching for a reason why
the sea never returned my bottle to me.
And all I wanted was your hands to hold,
to grasp,
to lead,
to fiddle,
to twiddle,
to crack.
To comfort.
To carry me to a safer shore
and dry me of my salty waters mixed with tears.
And I know
I'm not that pretty,
but you can trust me with your pupils.
I'll teach them to love and to hold,
to wonder and behold.
And I know
you only love me in darkness
when shadows soften my structures and shapes,
but I would blind my features to perfection
for you in the light.
And I know
that you don't really know what love is,
because it goes beyond fingers and
legs and
breasts and
the nape of my neck,
but I trust you when you say
I love you.
And I know
that we're only the cushions for each other's blows
and it won't be too long until we're bleeding pins,
but you're too dangerous to give up yet.
So I'll let the moon remain my gown
and the nightingale remain my lover:
it sweetens the cry of the gulls
and softens the torment of what I lost at sea.
