My Shipwreck

Wake-up sex with a kiss on the neck—I dreamt of a shipwreck.

I left; my lips chapped, a forgone conclusion.

To bruise you, sleeping—such polished things we say on the weekends.

 

The blue leaves, the sheer immediacy of us.

It bleeds into my dreams, a hatched ideal between monsters,

a beach, a rock—a scene shared from another time.

 

Love marooned there: in a fall, from a bed—

I’m yours—so weak, in love; I’m yours.

But are you mine?

My shipwreck?

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