An unadressed love letter

I hardly see you.


It’s times like these when I hate the term selfish
I recognize it when I see myself every morning
when the possibility of you vanishes with my saltwater dreams
sipping away with the tide and the sand dries

At high noon the sand is hot and I’m languid
there’s so much to do. Always do. Never get done.
I’m listless. I don’t care about much.

Then the moon, yellow and pregnant, brings the water back
slowly, slowly, I fight it with castles
no, keep the water at bay, don’t touch it

dark and teeming with creatures. She comes.
holding your hand, she comes.

I’m lubricated, reminded of your temperature.
I forget so easily- I don’t think about much
but you whisper in my ear
no, no, build your castle here. Deep, where the current is small

Eagerly I work. With new plans I build pyramids instead of castles
but it’s too late when I realize
how shallow the water is where I sit.

and the pyramids slump into soft memories now exposed to the rough of day
I forget why they’re there
I forget all but myself.
cracked and taught, covered in dried salt.

still, I try to see you. For I hate the word selfish and I try to see you.
But I haven’t seen the depths of the dark to know what they resemble.
Now that I am cracked salt, and you,
oh, you.
You are deliquescent.
if you were to find me, still, I don’t think I’d see you
until my eyes adjusted to your velvet and my hands softened from your oil

you’d show me that place in the ocean where the current is small
and I can swim in the daylight

you’d show me that selfishness is a term invented
to keep us from realizing ourselves
I won’t tell you I already found her in you.

In the darkness lies phosphorescence.