If I could I’d fill a rock pool with your words, stories, sentences.
I’d fill a rock pool that has sharp edges and a soft bottom so that every time your current throws me against the side I feel the same hurt you feel and I’m cut deep to scarring. So that every time you suck me under the surface of your syllables and I start to lose my breath and I’m tempted to start inhaling your script I feel your soft core. The letters are cold and warm, hard and gentle. The pressure is great and when I drift amongst you I feel like I am suffocating, it’s the most glorious moment of breathlessness I’ve ever encountered.