Her ocean blue, the submerged star, and 5 AM.Swimming to the bottom of an infinitesimal ocean of blue and green and white and light, three, maybe four drain spouts (positioned at regular metered intervals). 3, then 4, to 5 in the morning. Swimming with the one I love.Swimming to the bottom of an infinite ocean of blue. The sun's subtle caress playfully peeking over the treetops high, over the picket fence higher. A curious light shines bright at the bottom, the loving eye of the bed, the urchin, the abyssmal seabed. I dip my head beneath the surface and proceed closer. I dip my head beneath and slowly float towards the star.Swimming to the bottom of her ocean of blue. Four walls, one stairwell, enclosing our own private universe. Stars dimly shining as the midnight oil burns away. Stars twinkling quietly as Helios' chariot rides unceasingly closer to our Eden. Never have I witnessed anything more serene, more beautiful, than you and me. Alone, in this dawn's gentle light.Swimming to the bottom of this ocean of blue, I touch th
a curious warm feeling, that warmth for youLove stories don't really existAt least, not howWe were told they would be like.A shimmering veil, ofFine silk, gossamer wing of angels and theInspired work of gold Grecian muses.I believed it to be transcendental, divine and earthly,Parting the curtain to find-A million monkeys on typewriters.Baked, stoned out of their minds.