Osmosis
Sat in a pool of cynicism,
letting waves of depression lap
my outline into blurry over-exposure
With alien fingers, long and groping
(like the blind trace tips over Braille)
I feel my way into this circle of salt
Where you beckon me from inside.
Here it is quieter,
warm like a classroom greenhouse,
Chuffing air conditioned heat
into our goldfish bowl kissing den.
Secrecy is golden and silence is scarce,
all around They push and probe and
Interfere.
Leaning closer, you protect me,
wet and washing over my body, surging
till we fall, beached like whales,
On the bedroom shore
with limbs flailing, eyes desperate,
Starving.
Soul searching whilst the words catch:
They are hooks, spiked and strong,
dragging me back to the pool where I belong.
