Like Something Brought Back From the Sea

The time I spend thinking of you is unhealthy

though now you have taken on strange shapes
a white balloon for a head and
a lengthy neck
which reminds me of a lizard
dead and drying out in the desert sun

I don’t understand it

I see your breasts and
where once they would
have delighted me
now I labor
to understand
the geometry of their shape

and when you speak it’s with a melancholy
or maybe that’s my own voice that I’m hearing?

“Speak,” I want to make of you

and what would you, or I, say
if we could speak
honestly once more?

but it’s only an overwhelming
silence that confronts me

so I’ll close my eyes instead
it’s simpler that way –
your lips may refuse me
but not my eyes

in the dark the whole of your body
comes to surround me
as if it were an ocean
come to drown me

“It would be easier,”
I want to tell you,
“if you came to me in parts”

as rain comes to me in drops, or ice melting
under the weight of spring’s onslaught

even as a child I always enjoyed
the murmur of rain water on my face

though the drops have a tendency
to fill my eyes and collect in the gutters
of my mind, like the idea
of you collecting through the hours

an arm or a remembered leg
the smell of your body
fresh from the shower

as I have imagined
you a thousand times,
breasts, ass,
a beer bottle in your hand
dangling from your finger tips
the shower faucet dripping
the rain water dispatched as beads
on the windscreen

and you smile

and for some reason
I’m reminded of a mermaid

– A. Ramirez

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