Read the latest from The Source on the theme of relationships, ‘Drowning in You’!
I feel like I’m drowning as I struggle with your embrace
I lift my chin and try to breathe, as the deep blue of your eyes overwhelm me.
I fight for air between kisses, I battle at equal pace
And as the warmth of your fingers lap gently across the surface
Of that satin dress you love, fumble clumsily over pearlescent buttons
My fingers roam hungrily, and my lips rove for purchase
On your rough neck that tastes of salt, like the sea I miss so dearly,
My pearl, you’re all that remains.
Hold me, darling, as I search for Atlantis- that hidden city many have failed to find
Clutch me like a clam, as I nibble at your calloused, sailor’s fingers
As I dive and explore you, that sunken and stony maze of your mind
You churn my stomach with florescent flotsam in the stormy sea of whatever this is
Whatever it is, whenever this is, I begin to drown again every time.
And as the fish swim by they blow me little bubble kisses, champagne fizz
They recognise me as I sink in countless moments, without rhythm or rhyme.
Once I lie still, I struggle to tell if you anchor me or weigh me down, most likely both.
That’s in the nature of sea-crusted, auburn and rusting, heavy, interlocked, chains.
They are as necessary as their weight is crushing
Popping my lifeboat, my last means of escape
And as I stop fighting, I say a prayer to the watery powers above, God’s oath, in sinner’s pain.
I promise to never leave you, oh captain, my captain
And I hope you find with me that sunken treasure chest
I pray that it’s full of golden laughter and silvery midnight ranting
And all the rest, the countless, precious moments with you, my tragic Moby-Dick,
And all those jewel-toned sunsets that I love best.
And all that remains, my spiky pufferfish,
As my hands scope for sandy grains of magic in Dead Man’s Ocean grave
And my fingers dive through the seaweed of your hair,
That tenderly growing moss of your stubble in search of that cave.
That sea-cave where we first sat together, all those mourning years ago,
When, so impatient and young, we dove into this mess
Headstrong, headlong, as teenagers do best,
With their lean, keen, streamlined and focussed, neoprene frames.