Gone To Seed

Longshore Drifter

It seems my ways don’t suit you said
packing your mournful expression
into my old, ripped bag
thrown over your shoulder
both of you familiar but
bolted, gone to seed.

Like the words I wanted to spew out,
embed in your flesh
but I could not mouth them
while they still burnt.

You must have struggled
getting free of me
you aren’t big enough
to make this hole.

Even in the stretched afternoons
when we lay bellies exposed
our needs nestled
like sleeping puppies.

You offered yourself knowing
your core was empty, blown away
only your outside was entire.
Streamed in then out
pledging tidal permanence.

You lay me down
in quicksand
if I struggle at all
it submerges me.