us, twenty thousand leagues above shore

us, twenty thousand leagues above shore

when they ask, 

I'll say we were 

sardines in a packet, 

the cans wrapped 

tight in plastic film, 

like the 

silk lampshade 

grandmother 

never let me touch. 

and on some forgotten day 

the lid was opened, 

torn by Man's hunger.

you scratched through 

our skin, 

pierced us to the quick, 

nails digging in 

until your fingertips

turned white 

from pressure--

those plastic threads

sighing like

mother's breath, 

settling on our shoulders,

never giving in. 

so I marinate, 

soaked in 

your oily stare--

the salt drying my lips, 

curing you stiff. 

our bodies splayed

as bugs in amber, 

hardly feeling, 

hardly there. 

and what else is there

to do, 

but to stay 

fish-eyed, 

our mouths gaping holes 

between us.