in memory of sean power, drowned 2004,
the first boy to kiss me
even before we get off on the third floor,
something's lurking behind laughter,
the familiar smell of beach half-washed
down the drains. i know the hollow sound
of knuckles on lime-green wainscoting,
but not the way it sighs against my back.
lift doors close discreetly, the hall light
clicks out. inside me, tides turn. a joke
fizzles out in whispers. your hands long
to live in my hair, like wind and sand,
the murmur of waves. cracked lips meet.
you taste of a sea so different from the
cold, determined ocean that will pour
into you one irish summer. my mouth
can't help but open. i understand the pull
of depths, the urge to dive, and dive.
one could forget that surfacing too fast,
air would cut through us like knives.