[Ship] Wrecked

After I tried to drown you in cries of ‘I don’t deserve this’,
you still resurface. About twice a year now,
and each time I vow that I won’t catch your eye,
but when I’m drunk on free wine, you know I can’t help it.
Because even after all this time, I still wonder what you’re thinking.
If your heart’s still slowly sinking to the depths of the sea,
like mine did when you told me, “Her name is Francis,
she’s twenty-two and she dances just as bad as you do.”
At least he’s got a type, I guess. He took a sip from his Stanford Press,
gave me a sad smile that didn’t reach his eyes and said,
“I just wish I realised what I had with you before I lost it.”
Lost it to the depths of a box that I tossed under my bed,
full of things left unsaid, ticket stubs and notes.
Enough to sink a boat to the bottom of the ocean,
and recover our emotion from the ruins of our wreck.
Your beard brushes my neck when you kiss my cheek.
We won’t do this again for weeks. Your cab is here already,
your composure too unsteady. “Sea legs,” you grin.
The storms have cracked your skin; salt crystals in your eyes.
I knew you weren’t like other guys.