Spray

From the table
I can sit and
feel the spray of
the Sea on my
unshaven face.

The ocean eats a
man. She eats out
his brain and leaves
only a mist - a fog.
She eats out his heart
and leaves only her
depths.

Her feeling is fuller
than mine. It is more
fluid. It crashes
and laps at me like
a billowing darkness.
It takes me away -
piece by piece - until
I am no longer. Until
I am refuse on her
swollen shores.

And I have not
left my chair.