Perhaps I'm water,
Not the kind that rains from sky to earth—
Perhaps I'm the vengeful current,
Rushing in when your world dims to grey,
Then storming away as darkness deepens,
Stealing what warmth remains.
These rock-scars I've kissed,
Refuse to smooth beneath my touch.
Perhaps I'm the mad tidal waves,
Watching as you board the ship of departure.
Deep down, the roaring
Was a siren's desperate plea
A stubborn whirlpool
And the storm in my eyes,
Brought you back to my side,
But never alive.
Perhaps I'm the silent fountain,
Falling from anticipated heights
To unexpected lows.
Tossed by invisible coins,
Embracing those fragile promises
While watching shooting stars fade and flee,
Counting each repeating pain
Again and again
But I filled the rift
Beneath your coffee cup,
Claiming a dried perfect circle.
Through the damp seasons,
I seep into your potted plants,
Into the keychain we bought together,
Your long-unopened drawer,
Your long-unworn socks.
On our forgotten photographs,
I am oxidizing, rusting, slowly eroding—
Dampening your eyes,
Blurring the lies.
