Tag Archives: water

Hydrophobic

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Hydrophobic

Was reading about dry drowning
And I suddenly was four.
Remembering my mother’s hypervigilance surrounding me
“It only takes a teaspoon to drown!”
And this led to my flooded warren…
My Piscean draw to the moon
The tides
Sand and waves
My mermaidian desires
How it wasn’t her android pelvis holding me back
But my fear of leaving the amniotic
Funny now, I think of it.
How we need the water
We’re 75% or something
(Same as the earth herself)
But she refused to let us wear seat belts,
Because if we wrecked in the drink, we’d drown.
She was so scared of water.
Never did learn how to swim
Except for underneath
And strangely, she never did come up,
To surface so she died:
In the life giving force we need
And instilled the fear
But it only made me want it more
Then the thoughts, they jumped to you.
The cliffs we slid down in winter,
And the irony of the ocean that day
Your ass hitting the ice,
A frozen attempt at life
You lost me in the sea grass
But climbed a tree to scout me a path.
I’m not hydrophobic anymore.
Are you?

 

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My Artesian soul…..

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And I realized in that moment,

It wasn’t you who had changed.

It wasn’t the “us” that was different.

It was me giving you the benefit:

The benefit of my artesian soul,

which had recently been refilled

to the brim.

Not unlike a geyser spouts,

it spilled over into us.

I feel like an eddy,

The tornado around the drain.

I lose my pressure around you.

Nothing even percolates.

It’s flat.

Huh.

I thought it was you.

But it was me.

It was him.

It was there.

I must rediscover the source.

 

Sexiest damn song. I had forgotten. It’s what was playing when I wrote this in my head.

Water Déjà vu

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I’ve always memorized bathroom ceilings:

Submerged, looking up at faces in its texture,

Light reflected dancing ripples on the tile walls,

Watching my voyeuristic friends in forgotten corners,

Quietly observing me from above.

My true Piscean solace,

And it was odd, how the thought emerged;

“Nothing heals me like water.”

My mantra mimicking the rhythm of the tide,

Created by the horizontal push of my toes from the faucet.

I dream of water; the ocean.

Inside me is a longing,

For the impossibly familiar cold Irish beaches.

I can still taste the fog, thick in my mouth,

Feel the sea spray on my face.

I’m never sure if they are my memories or some other lifetime’s;

A forgotten life or a touch of the divine

Little breakthroughs come in waves,

Like pieces of a movie

And someone pushed rewind.

Almost like wading through the pages of an old photo album,

You never know if you remember hearing the story

Or if you were actually there and experienced it.

They are my salt cracked composite images

Of some other life, place and time.