One such as me, can describe
Each detail, with astonished eyes.
Beauty is but a weakness, a place of clay
That requires the water, for sculpture.
It is nothing, without the hands atop it,
And so, I go to mold.
I craft legs to appear as water-bent pillars
To hold up
Poseidon’s very palace, should he have one,
Or a cottage, that runs with the ripples of a calm sea,
Its structure still attached to those legs,
For my belonging is inside of you.
Love is but a requirement, to create protection
On your state of isolation.
I have discovered, but still yearn to explore
Each crevice and each crease, in that form of yours.
To kiss your face, to kiss the red
Of lips that loosen out every breath,
Each gust that stirs the sea, to raise itself
To the moon, while its radiance throws upon you
As silver tears draw themselves down your cheeks.
I am attached,
And cannot die,
Amid oceans, unable to move
Without your sigh.