Birds swimming in their underwear March 10

Each time distance has crept up
between us,
our words were lost
and what we spoke was like a rudderless boat crashing into a
swarm of weeds
growing magically in the middle
of the sea.
What story do I dream every night?
I just repeat each day, there is nothing new.
I sit in a corner in my room waiting for her to join me.
She will come, she will come… they say.
She has fair feet which go thump on the floor.
Her eyes are like fresh flour knead into bread. Consumable.
Romance after love after marriage. I am not ashamed.
I would like to fly with my anchor in my mouth
speak lightly of all things which sound vague
or sad
or small.