this water | cinematic poem

This water
that doesn't start or end at my feet
at my gaze,
at my grasp, or command,
can be replaced by anything, and still be a sea, waving freedom.

In this water that can drown me in less than a minute
I sink again,
again, again, again...
A tea bag, squashing the last drop of intensity,
fearless, like love arising from shallowness,
and flattening on the shore,
as a lover, on the bed, next to another.

This water that I swallow rushes out
and meets itself like it had never met me,
without any evidence of passing,
without any evidence of my existence.

There's a deep desire of doing things
with intention,
to visualise the way I pierce my baggy heart
and I make known.

In this water I release any wicked memory,
I tell them to go away,
like frenzied undersea creatures at the sight of a shadow
they go;
now, leave
this place
untouched,
unblemished.