I don’t melt


Part 1
I don’t melt into his arms because I don’t melt anymore.

They’d rather I was Ariel on a beach, dissolving into foam, (re)minded into nothingness, into waves, into my own tears, voiceless.

But I found a merman with a shark grin,
hands like anchors,
and conversations like journeys
winding through ocean currents
and eyes, deep,
as deep as the ocean,
as deep as my own

and a jawline so fine
only meant for mermaid lips
like mine

Part 2
I told him one day that after studying the deep sea creatures,
the squids and the anglerfish
the way they moved, shed light in the darkest parts of
our heart(h)s,
that I had become quite adept
at becoming invisible, reading minds, and telling the future.

“I’m a witch”, I said, quite seriously. “I didn’t think any of us existed down here; they never talk about us without legs, but there you have it. A mermaid witch.”

“Haha, I love you” he said, and I saw the stream of water from his words,
rush past me, breaking into nothing as they wove through my hair.

It’s an intimate feeling,
to be touched by nothing.

A strange unease, a curious sensation;
vacuums under water are rare,
but I remember trying to breathe and being unable to
all those times I ventured towards the shore.

When he blinked, I
folded myself into the darkness inches from him; he
turned, swirling through the currents, searching, just to be sure,
and I watched, just to be sure

and I saw his smile fade
into relief.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in poetry and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s