untitled.

you are like the stirring waters of the sea,
salt-wind licks your hair and tousles it in
a fit of childish love, but you are not
moved. foolish to think cusping my palms
and drinking you in, meant i knew you in
your entirety but that’s not the truth –

i know nothing of the ecosystems you
house, i know nothing of your seabed.
all i know is what you present on the surface –
i see the sea-foam and think you’ve finally
written back but the truth’s far simpler;
it’s everything you didn’t want to
amalgamate.

i dreamt of getting caught
in your tides – the pulling and pushing,
the violence of it all,

maybe that’s why i thought love was meant
to be violent, something tumultuous
and why i quake with a need
to bleed for you.

is blood love?