I stand on the shores with fist-fulls of sand
at my sides
watching you wade out into the empty sea.
Your blue dress floats around your hips
like a jelly-fish.
Your head down, your hair in your eyes,
the terrible sun sinking into the horizon.
What am I,
if I am not the man
who has an unhealthy obsession
with the kind of creature you are.
I swear to the horrible, blood-thirsty gods
I meant every word I didn’t say.
You will never know what
madness goes in within my head.
It’s thick, and palpable,
overwhelming and hot to the touch.
If you never come back to land,
if you remain amongst the foaming waves,
I will burn every single scrap of paper
that identifies I ever walked
this cursed earth.
“What am I?” asked the voice.
“If I am not something distant?”
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