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.
She always thought that she could have been a pianist;
The way her fingers fluttered like feathers.
She saw herself right in the centre of a half lit stage;
A Black dress, her hair elegantly knotted,
and a spotlight on her face –
streaming light from a high window.
But there was no audience.
Sometimes she would play the metal bars
like a harp, and danced herself breathless.
All the songs she sang were of the same rhythm;
the words she wrote to herself
begged the same question:
“Did I really do it?”
Let’s get lost among the thoughts of oceans and skies,
and the limitlessness of them all.
Find a way to sail them both, even if just in a lullaby.
We close our eyes and jump – weightless;
Our limbs carried by all the tints of blue,
and all the shades in-between so seamless.
Try to figure out why clouds are so lucky;
Having the ability to travel high and low,
To be filled with anger, but always knowing
when to let it go.
The nothingness of the atmosphere,
embedded deep within your lungs.
To be both nothing and
anxiously needed beyond compare;
Perhaps it isn’t such a bad thing if
We all will disappear into thin air.
It didn’t happen as slow as I thought it would.
It felt like seconds, and then all of a sudden,
the lights burned brighter; the field bigger than when I first set foot on it.
All of a sudden, the sky emptied itself onto us in the form of gold dust and the rush of the noise danced with my eardrums; it couldn’t keep up with my heartbeat.
All at once, worry abandoned us – floated away on the backs of butterflies, leaving t-shirts on the pitch, sweat soaked cloth and champagne stained skin.
I look around and see men with the hearts of boys who dreamt of this moment, replaying it over and over again in their back yard and I wondered if this is what they imagined it would be like.
I wondered if they thought they could time travel, like me, and if they would go back just to tell themselves about the kind of men they would be.
I was meant for simpler things.
Ocean mists, wind in sails,
sunlit water, moonlit trails.
You were meant for city things.
Rush hour traffic, the crowded streets,
smokey evenings, and midnight parties.
You don’t like reading poetry.
We are opposite sides of the spectrum,
me and you;
We dance to different marching tunes.
I’m terribly sorry for the suspense,
but I think you and I should just be friends.