The Enchantment Above the Sea

Deep out in the ocean, way out there where lightning never strikes twice, I found that we were able to walk on water, you and I. While drenched in the moonlight, I put on a silk dress that I wore only when thinking of you and dreaming of you, and it was only in these moments that I believed someone would want to kiss my shoulder tops and tell me that I was delicate.

When you put your hands on my cheeks, you turned them ice cold and my eyes even bluer than they'd been the whole of my life. And we danced there slowly and without interruption and without anything but the vast amphitheater of nothingness to remind us of how much we mattered to each other.

Then you took your fingers and you braided them in between my knotted sticks and I remembered how much my chest hurt when I was swimming here, treading and treading to find the ghost I missed so very much. And all the while, you, too, were swimming for me.

And here we were, in the middle of the sea, with nothing and everything to show for ourselves. You were dripping wet and only one side of your face could be illuminated by the beyond. I wanted too much but with reason. This you knew, so you cupped my face in those fingers and you brushed the blue of my lips. We danced there above the imminent tide, looking down at everything that they had said would bring us back to life.

You were all but disarming and right there, I tasted the salt water and I smelled it in the hot summer air, but at long last, it wasn't clouding anything up here. Anything at all.