infinite and unguarded with every embrace
that makes it impossible to really know
where you end, where I begin.
I’ve become threadbare inside this,
unable to know continents by their shapes,
forgetting all the territories you’ve claimed
because a name’s memory cannot form
alongside a scorched earth policy.
There’s a certain peace in such a surrender,
there’s a rage in such ownership.
You’ve become the only current in me,
no end or beginning to oceans crashing,
creating beautiful primal symphonies,
I thought I would cave in from the waters.
It was only you making vessels
out of desperate lungs,
I’ve become the oxygen you cling to,
the capillaries trapping your essence,
mine to caress or crush.
I made the same mistake as you,
assuming that power is merely a word,
merely the positioning of supple flesh.
There’s a certain peace in such an exchange,
there’s an unbridled rage between the folds
of our jealous and wistful hearts.
You still the current inside
so I cannot deny where you end,
where I begin is the same
when we flee these vessels together.
If only you were me for a moment,
if you slipped into my skin for a while,
you would exhale phantom shapes
against the glass I’ve viewed you through.
It was a collection of ghosts
receding from the cold expanse we filled,
merely fog meant to skim waves
alongside every violent current.
You would see me waiting for you,
believing there’s a certain peace,
a certain bond in such a surrender,
a territorial rage in such ownership.
