they got all wrapped up
by the light of the moon
but there was nowhere to go
everyone waxes poetic
at the smell of the sea
but why don’t they ever say the part where it hurts a little too
how the smell of the seafloor churning under the water, how it smells when it rolls up over the sticky sand and slides off your skin, how it washes through you… a faint thread of nausea.
a ribbon of nostalgia that’s never filled in enough to identify and so I try to pin it on a mood or the company. but it’s always there, even when I’m pleased with the ocean and she’s pleased with me.
it’s a warning, a caution — you can step in, you can feel me, you can use me to feel things you can never feel on your own, on the land. but don’t come to me with forever unless you’re willing to give me everything. swim out farther than you can see and drop down into my depths.
because you’re at the edge of the world.. so you can look, but you can’t hold. You can touch my skin and play for awhile, but you can never contain me.