PIRATES

YES. YES. YES.

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1. PIRATES

i.
all we are are metaphors.
nautical ones, at that.
both tiny sloops on the roiling sea
that's been designated—
inked—
on some map, somewhere, as:
romance.
i'm under the impression that
maybe, there's more to it than they act.
parentheses. platonic.

ii.
so, as a metaphorical ship,
i drift. i wait. i wade rib-deep into your promises—
your insinuated text-message calling cards.
i find myself taking on water as my heart sinks.

iii.
i think: i should let you go,
because,
after all, i don't want to bring you down with me.

you drop all pretense.
say: i have to let you go.

i know.

say: i'll always remember...
stop. ok? just... go.
say: be free? be happy?
go away.

iv.
all we were were metaphors.
nautical ones, at that.
i sink into myself,
my salt-rubbed planks curling to the sky like a prayer.
you slip away with your prize, and leave me
like a bloodied pirate.
i watch you disappear into that sunset
wondering how it could have come to this.

v.
you once said the wind in your sails was different—
that you caught my 'drift'
but were unsure
if it would be the one to take you
from harbor.
from her.

we may have been in the open sea,
at least from my perspective, but you?
you were never far from port.

vi.
i can see that,
now that i've dropped this rose-dipped spyglass.
i'm nothing, if not nautically inclined.
i might be the pirate
but you were
the one
after my booty.

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