• I was the Old Man and my twin the sea.

    Our veins were the red thin string
    weaving around our fingers and taunt
    our flesh into a drum knot. Doubt
    pounded to a beat that didn’t sync.

    I won’t catch him in this sea of angel dust
    snorting up the reef from his arms
    and letting it rip open his stomach
    so lily of the valley petals rain down.

    Blinding -- is the landscape;
    the fishing line snaps
    and wraps around my chest
    to squeeze out the lemonade
    from my hook-shaped heart.

    I’ll still be bleeding used I.O.Us
    and recording the adventures on YouTube,
    the stream will hit 3 million views
    from men who jerk off from us dying.

    I’ll remember the fireflies in his eyes
    when he suffocates from love’s stratosphere,
    at Hemmingway got a Nobel Prize
    because I’m still floating in forget-me-not waters.