A Rose Thrown out to Sea.

Pride Ed

i.

you were petals i once 
submerged — a fistful i let 
go of under a foggy sea
when i was succumbing 
to myself

you were the surface tension
screaming my name;
a diaphragm’s lullaby —
old thunder in the rain…

i’ve been fond of storms
ever since

ii.

no one told me
how slow clouds would be —
i would have held my
breath a bit longer…

charted constellations
a bit better before
i spoke of love in light-years

and there you were
on a shoreline, 
carrying salt in your palms

iii

how many times
will I walk here, —
a wreckage of bramble
in my side?

“the sea is much too old,”
i heard someone say…

and the wind was salt
on my brain

it left a hole;
a stain,
and i felt a burning
behind my soggy 
ribcage

can stars erode
in the tide?

iv.

night adorns it’s veil —
scallops tug at the lace

and i toss inky petals
to the sea

nocturne’s dreamboat 
a dead man’s float; —
how i’ve internalized 
my hatred for romance

“the sea is much too old,”
i heard someone say…

and i realized my 
lungs could speak
for days about sunken 
ships returning home

v.

i ignore a
distant moon — inertia
rocking my cradle

but she stays there
all the same…

there’s stardust
on her breath — whiskey 
on mine

“you’ve grown much too old,”
i heard her say…

so i closed my eyes,
and felt sand between
my toes for the first time

it will be eons before
i swim here again