scribbles

they wish their loves were here
i think--
mine is here but not at all.
don't drag this pity from me
lest my tears fall on foreign soil.
flash of hand, my seahorse falls.

***
into the murky harbour
she can breathe easily underwater
so my love is finally free.
but now
my cheeks are scarlet, blood
running through every vessel
and staining my skin.

***
how did i love you best?
too late, too earnestly
or barely at all.