Holograms of the Sea

I've tried, unsuccessfully, to write

A love poem.

I write them all time.

In reality, I think all poems

Are love poems.

In a way.

But I write numerous love poems.

And yet,

Now,

When I have a deep desire to do so.

Nothing happens.

Somehow,

I'm failing to write

About love.

I know nothing of it,

Of course.

But I like to falsify my life

And say that I do.

But so far,

Nothing is working to

Capture steely blue eyes

And the odd dreams.

The feeling of being two entities.

Each unsure what the other wants.

Both unsure

Of what's going on.

I like when things get weird,

But I'm just a little too lost right now.

You'd think a love poem

Would be the most simple to write.

Raw emotion, right?

Wrong.

It's so refined an emotion

That nothing will stem from it in a

Beautiful way.

Or perhaps,

It's so beautifully uncontained

That words have a hard time

Understanding.

I don't know.

It's unnerving.

Have a past love poem.

Then tell me how to write another one.

Dunes

-

Waking dreams of you as you walk

From the sea and into the arms of the winds.

The winds gently whisper slight secrets,

Tickle your cold, dripping hair,

The sea has loved you as well.

Shipwrecked you so,

And stole you away.

-

Now you stand in the bay,

Knee-deep in my own conscious.

Daydreams swiftly move with the

Continuous tides of the vast

Pacific, where the mind dwells.

-

This photo of you.

Wind-blown and sea-salted,

Pale blue eyes

In hues of the sea around you.

Through you,

I see, your eyes

The canvas the sea has painted on.

-

The sanded dunes in the distance

Down the jagged shoreline

Make you look small.

And my mind's eye shrinks you further.

In waking dreams,

-

You stand, arms open.

Eh, what the heck,

Have another.

Sleeping One.

(This is one of many, many similar drafts, all along the same lines.)

-

In twisted sheets,

And cooling morning.

Grey light through

Resembling the calm

Of your eyes,

Endless seas.

Where I am lost

In the daylight.

Turned to stone,

You gorgon, Medusa.

-

But my dear with the shorn

Blonde hair,

The color of sand,

Grainy strands.

And my fingers wander the sand,

As soft sighs escape you.

Dream serpents claiming you,

Making you speak the nonsense

Sighs of dream.

-

Your narrow body

Languid across the mattress,

You stealing the pale light.

Your angled curve, the crook of your arm,

Where I may fit perfectly.

-

Sleeping so deep,

So as not to stir as I let my hands,

Gently hold you.

Silent one,

In the too-loud silence of

Another morning.

Boy, tossed in dreams

Along the waves

By serpents.

But safe,

Here,

Where my arms may reach.