Feature Image Credit: Peter Horree / Alamy Stock Photo
He drifted through kelp, broken
scalp diffusing red like squid
ink clouding itself. Crowded, the spiny
urchins hinged their drift west. He slept,
I knew, towards his death. What harm
could there be in waking him?
Through the dark-prismed sun of my
depths, his skin glowed sweet: comet-fruit
shaping waves with its plummet, all of him
begging for touch. I breathed into his sanded
tongue. His eyes widened—black-cored, lit
by two dark stars carved of the earth he should
never have kicked from. I drew him
to surface, remembering: I can light
from inside into something like silver.
