the sound in this house is all fridge and sky, bismarck

i have missed your tattered remarks, sparsely worded,

thin like bible pages and stronger than love -

the blue of the ocean is a cutting memory, salted and stinging

between my fingers, inside my elbows; i long for the chafe

of sand between my thighs till the blood smears lightly

like when i was ten. blood on blood. now i have to make do with my

own punishment; it is not easy, it is not pleasant -

the arches of my feet are taut from tiptoeing through your mind

looking for me. i hide so well. you would not

have it any other way. shake your saltshaker,

open my eyes in disbelief, relief, grief. and spice, bismarck,

bring the ocean back to me

my salt, that salt