Two tones irreconcilable,
Double tide in retreat,
Momentary perfect reflections that slide between two panes of dancing glass.
Personal wounds and mystery,
Are the invocation to the mouth of the Lacuna.
Where two hearts in hope form the raft that carries inwards.
In every other encounter,
Breathless and grayscale,
Trying to swim home.
I could search your eyes for years,
Like deep pools of a most complex gift,
And search around,
Whether this kind of vital duality,
And the salty taste of could be and maybe,
Are the perfect conditions,
For me to feel the sea in my chest.
The swim was worth it.