my darling sailor,
have the tides
made wreckage in your
lovely mind?
it is not your
chest that i
harbor home toward, it is
you and only
you.
forget the damn nectar. my
stomach is full. my lips want
yours, not the wine that
nestles somewhere in your chest.
forgive me. you think i always
want more, but i am content
with nothing at all as long as it
means, i have you.
fuck words. fuck writing. fuck prose,
fuck poetry, fuck this incessant need to
tell you in verse how i feel—
instead of giving me more, let me
give you all i have to offer. relax,
rest your head on my chest and forget the
stutter of wings, i just want my heartbeat to
soothe you. just this once.
yours, yours, yours,
mermaid
i don’t always want to be a bird
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