seem to have been
an ocean over a thousand
days. swelling against
a pristine sky, to turn
all the colours between
blue & green & grey,
angrily devouring
fishermen. tearfully
taking thrashing
arms.

wrote a list of intentions
for a friday, in september
it is missing what seems
a rather significant thing

slept in the crook of your neck,
whispered inconsiderate things
about this & that, this & such
you are all the clich�s, but much more
rough skin meeting folded fingers
((on folded fingers)), also;
you laugh like a king.

oh, if only i could articulate the feeling ((to you)).