the tides.

atlantic.
you smell like cigarettes and musk, and when i close my eyes, i imagine your waters are not quite so cold, and that the gun-metal gray clouds above your head do not reflect your thoughts. your fingers rush towards my ankles, trying to pull me in, and then you are shoving me away, running back to your sea bed, which, i don't believe, will ever completely hold you.

pacific.
you are turqouise waters, with simple, colorful thoughts swimming in your head like tropical fish. the clear blue sky above is a backdrop to the birds flitting above your soft waves like your eyes over my face. your waters do not toss and turn like the sleepless bereaved; instead, they are comforting, cradling like a young mother.

atlantic.
you bash against everything; the ships, the docks, throwing yourself into the buildings with their windows shut against your furies. i am still standing at your shores, awaiting the day you will stop trying to tear me from the face of the earth. i am here, listening to your screams, watching your hands claw at the sands, and i will not leave until you shrink back into your sea bed, leaving me to pick up the pieces of the ruined ships.

pacific.
you slide easily up and down the beach, luxuriously running your fingers through the sand like a comb, searching for shells and little bits of truth. you do not scream, you do not hurl things; you swirl lazily in the bay, sweet as sugared fruit in paradise. you are a break, a vacation. you are not permanant but sometimes i wish you were.