You were dreamt up in 1902 by magicians whose minds were completely lost at sea.
Me on the other hand, I was always just here.
Shaped by time and salt.
Weathered to reflect your steel blue at midday, invisible at midnight, invisible for most of my life, and then I met you.
Before we met, you were unsinkable.
A floating mass surging with power;
you sailed like the ocean was made to carry you.
We collided like you calculated your four day journey just to find me, ignoring all the warnings.
Can’t you see? A love like this they were bound to make movies about us.
Destined to be carried through decades in a water tight time capsule of love songs.
Certain to be written about by storytellers, they’d call you Titanic and they’d call us Candied Destruction, because when we collided, nothing ever tasted so bittersweet.
37 seconds elapsed before we locked lips like traveling lovers and I felt like you were on your way out again. Just as quickly as you came.
37 seconds was all it took for you to be wounded enough to sink, taking parts of me with you.
Rest now, you’ve spent enough time, enough years of grinding and pounding of metal and not enough gliding through water.
Lay your heavily burdened body at my feet and settle slower than the sunset.