I long to trace the outline of your face
like a blind Tiresias,
search the creeping warmth of your blushes
for the pattern of the waves that day,
when time coiled back on itself like a sea anemone,
repulsed at the tenderness of our shared years;
when we cared for nothing but the tickle of the spilling
breakers on unmanicured toes,
and the sun-stippled swarm of colours behind our lids.
I long for the time before our thoughts
collided on the horizon line,
before we drifted out like flightless birds to sea.
like a blind Tiresias,
search the creeping warmth of your blushes
for the pattern of the waves that day,
when time coiled back on itself like a sea anemone,
repulsed at the tenderness of our shared years;
when we cared for nothing but the tickle of the spilling
breakers on unmanicured toes,
and the sun-stippled swarm of colours behind our lids.
I long for the time before our thoughts
collided on the horizon line,
before we drifted out like flightless birds to sea.