Rebellion

The exalted.
White foam ribbons of the ocean
reach up to the mouth,
wrapping around the neck,
dragging the body down,
under,
to the bottom,
to lie in wait like a hunter,
hunting her out.

She comes to me like January;
an embrace ending, another beginning –
sun-kissed skin.
So when will this winter end?

The ship coasts above
without her captain
steered by rebellion
all hands dining on the heart & sternum.

She brings me up to the surface,
not for air,
but to tease me,
so I can see myself at the shoreline
screaming for myself,
but I can’t hear myself,
the foam dividing us out.

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