That Ocean

An ocean is a surfeit
A sea no less
A river flows, just as seamlessly
Like that trickle to a pond.

And we sail
As flotsam, blossom
Flail as fish, perhaps
Trying not to beach
Ingloriously, whale like-

That mammal, not born of sea.

But so at home, more so than them denizens
That look on in awe.

It strikes me now, how I
And you, lest I forget,
Are these, all.

We’re the life we weaned into,
Sometimes away
From the corpulence of living.

We are that ocean, that sea
That river, that meanders.
Most often, that trickle
Shorne of all its promise.

Right now, though,
Try as we might,
To pour the love
Enrich with lust
And fan the flames of desire…

We are the banks,
The shore on alien ends,
That trickle that did not
Quite reach the puddle…

Distant.

Beached.

Waiting to be buried.

All the while thinking,
If only.

We could have had
A whale of a time.

We are the wolf
Hungering, hankering
For the cold cold moon.

Marooned in that ocean.

#RamblingsInFebruary Day#3

3 February, 2016