Poeting Around

This water that doesn't start or end at my feet at my gaze, at my grasp, or command, can be replaced by anything, and still be a sea, waving freedom. In this water that can drown me in less than a minute I sink again, again, again, again... A tea bag, squashing the last drop of intensity, fearless, like love arising from shallowness, and flattening on the shore, as a lover, on the bed, next to another. This water that I swallow rushes out and meets itself like it had never met me, without any evidence of passing, without any evidence of my existence. There's a deep desire of doing things with intention, to visualise the way I pierce my baggy heart and I make known. In this water I release any wicked memory, I tell them to go away, like frenzied undersea creatures at the sight of a shadow they go; now, leave this place untouched, unblemished.