The depth and mystery of you has ruined me —
Like the liberty (luxury) of jumping in the deep end and not having to fear that I’ll hit the bottom;
trust me, you beckon- there are great barriers and reefs to swim past yet.
The kiddie pool just won’t do, we’ve grown out of it —
And the shallow end, I can see down to the floor —
What use would I have then of diving?
It’s all impossible:
Humidity that doesn’t glisten upon the waves of our summer bodies’ heat;
Perfect shades of sky that disallow us from taking it all for granted;
Time that doesn’t pass in the blink of an eye when you’re by my side;
Sunsets that don’t eventually turn into unseeable darkness;
Hope that isn’t wildly misplaced;
Irises not growing in anticipation at looking into yours;
Loving you;
Letting you love me.
“Bear with me,” I ask.
“Bare with me,” you plead, perhaps not knowing I am already here drowning in your sea, bare and vulnerable. All of me.
Siken reminds us, “Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.”
“It’s ok,” I whisper back. “You need not tell me anything about ruin.”
I don’t need reminding. You’ve already finished the job, and I’m willingly lost at sea.