---
My seas aren't made bland;
our country is rich by land.
My seas never looked so blue
'til your ship left the sand.
I never really knew
what runs through your lovely mind:
would it be me or you?
or would it be what might be in my mind?
Maybe, deep in the trenches of your heart,
I will never know what you'll truly say
'bout the book dropped in the ocean of art,
'bout the things you would never say.
But like the usual, I hold onto that thin thread
of what you might actually be thinking.
One year of worry, a dozen roses for the dead,
I forgot everything about your everything.
One year of worry, I never noticed time
passing by, never remembered how
I treasured and lived, for the first time,
for every single moment until now.
But maybe, it's true you drown much more
in my heart, in my arms, in me
than any ocean far beyond the shore,
beyond the dangers of the sea.
---
YOU ARE READING
Finite Infinitives
Poetry𝙁𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙄𝙣𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙨 ╰ a c o m p i l a t i o n o f p o e m s ╰ c o m p l e t e d "I haven't done everything I want, but in the realm of reams, I already did some."
