Falling in love with you was more like falling down stairs.
I still have the bruises, you the splintered hand
but we got to the bottom in the end.
But you said,
mouth full of pomegranates and hair like autumn leaves, you
that’s how cities grow.
sorts of strange shapes, side streets jutting out like weeds
of fascinating grime and bustling main roads.
I ought to love you like that.
We are good on Thursday nights especially.
Last week we made wizard staffs from beer cans and watched
shitty horror movies,
the chorus of your commentary making me double over, laugh
like there was not a care in the world.
As if I
hadn’t just quit. As if there weren’t still tears in
As if there was nothing else in the world but you and I.
The scent of your musky whiskey madness clouds my
I am an island
born of blood and beach,
but if you, my darling, are the sea,
then you have made quite the pirate of me.
I don’t love you like a city,
full of urban jungles to unwind and streets flooded with
you are not small enough for that.
Not dark enough for that.
Not blood enough for that.
I love you salt water,
stings in cuts, ocean waves and
I love you mysteries creeping out from your depths,
unfathomable secrets to unfurl.
I love you sideways, and upside down,
cause when you’re under water it’s all the same.
I love you tsunami, oil spill, great white’s clapping jaw,
hidden hurricane and drowning victims alike.
Cities produce ghetto, produce poverty,
lie their homeless out to dry on wet pavement.
There is always
but the sea,
oh the sea,
I cannot think of a part that does not call to me.