When the ocean is far away
and the wind is full of sand instead of salt,
I dive back into the green pools of
forgotten peace in your eyes.
I swim through lakes of cheap vodka
and expensive memories.

Like how the sun had made a strange kind of sense,
hitting the cool greys of you with vibrant warmth,
hitting our hard skins with downy rays.

How the stars would blink in
their judgmental age,
watching my young thoughts,
growing their restless actions.

So when I’m parched
here, in the endless desert,
stretching out like a mockery of my seas
I fall into the false promises of your ocean-arms.
Words whisper like icy waves,
undulating across my sun-scarred form
"I’m here,
I’ve always been right here”

But you are not,
and I don’t want to drown
in your mirage.