Two Hundred Feet Below

And she looks at me and her face is creased in that way it gets when sleep is sound

I wish I remembered what that felt like

Anyways she looks at me with her rumpled skin and her hair like it went through

The wrong washing cycle

And her eyes are blurred edges and grey areas

She’s holding a cup of coffee and the steam curls around her nose and tickles the

Sand of her freckles

And I scratch sand out of my ear

There’s salt in my hair and salt on our skin

Sunburned

So she looks at me with her rumpled skin and frayed hair and grey eyes and coffee

And her lips are chapped from windburn

Or salt kisses

And she speaks softly like waves lapping my edges

Her voice is thick like salt water and rough like sunburned skin

“It’s just how close it is, you know? The end of it all.

We’re just so close.

Just peering over the edge.”

And I know

I’m staring down into her ocean

Two hundred feet below