Maybe the next time I cast out, I'll reel in something other than the bait.
I could have sworn I felt him bite.
He was definitely tugging.
And then, we were hugging.
I felt the weight of him as we struggled to find calm in the sea of comforters.
Those were definitively fingers that tickled me, and not some rogue seaweed or algae.
This was not invention.
This was intention.
I want to be anchored to something other than a bar stool.
I want your heart to hold strong at high tide.
When thunder claps in the sky above, I want the crashing of our thighs against one another to echo back beyond the din.
I use the lateral scar across your chest to help me find true north.
Half a league up from your sternum and directly below your nose .
Those lips are Orion's Belt.
I could find them from any shore.
Some nights, when the clouds obstruct my view, I reach out and trace the Big Dipper on your left arm to navigate me back on course.
Then, I take Orion's Belt off with my teeth.
Often, I wonder if I've been at sea for too long.
Should I find a mooring and post up in a harbor of content.
But I like the taste of rain water.
The salt does wonders for my skin.
And my eyes are everyday oceans in which I hope you'll bathe.
I enjoy the comfort of swimming under the sea of comforters with you.
Because laying here with you, I am the bait.
This time, I couldn't get away.
