I stare out into open lapping ripples, kissed by dawn’s edge, the gulls are hungry while fish schools open
The grey of the fog clears out, and far in the horizon my friend is in waves, optimistic, he dives to find shells and I look to my bed, entitled
Covers lazy and calling, kept warm by a breathing soul splayed on her stomach, the smoke from last night sunken to the ground, clinging to my lungs
My gut screams, Rumplestiltskin dances by the fire, my head thumps to club music from tomorrow, and my limbs swing to find the solace of a window or a doorknob
Instead I feel the pull of your hands, the sound of your voice and moisture of your lips stringing me back, dear friend. We have stories yet told, and adventures yet seen.
The turtles have ventured off, switching tickets with Dolphins. The tides are bored of the calm, and the sky cracking open. I know you want to see it too.
I’ll go West and you go East and we’ll meet when direction makes no more sense. A Place Without No Name. Where a bush can forever burn and together, we can watch fish fly and ceilings fall.