I Stole From The Sea Lg Poem by For Matilde

How we thought; overflowed
(saw meaning, even on the
indelibly grey slate, of Sundays,
of dried withered recollection)
and I still do, of meeting
unavoidably, just straying into
each others shells, finding sanctuary
in a space of departure, the sticky
blessing of an emigrant, let us go back
to the sea you said, float in its
blue solace, become the creatures
we are, barely a cell above creation
the language of water in our mouths
how far away you are, I have my
sight turned inward, my matter contrives
to assemble you, your limbs
your mouth, your lips, I wait
to feel the hot tongue of
the afternoon, on my limbs
my mouth, my lips, our bodies
tremble with sound and rumour
I sit in a cafe now; and
there you are, your shoulder-bag full
of the poems that you keep
hidden in a drawer, between your clothes
come for me, come for me
(place of loss and unquenchably sadness)
your face pressed like darkness
against me, warm like earth, you
said nothing more, I see you
have forgotten; turned your blindness to
the slow mucus trail of memories
I stole from the sea