It doesn’t matter how we found ourselves
in someone else’s cabin by the sea
where whiskey drenched in whiskey lined the shelves
and liquefied our bellies, let us be:

I was the sea turtle, you were the shark
swimming the length of the wooden floors, teeth
like fingers crave to sink deeper, the dark
into dark. I was the blue beneath

your toy boat. The ocean, salted and whole,
turns into dust when chewed like a cashew;
the ocean, lolled in the dip of my bowl
filled to overflow. This is what I knew:

this love – a heartbeat made visible, a breath
before I drowned. This love – the smallest death.

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