Currying freedom
with shaky limbs,
running into me,
the foam,
from the deep blue,
pearls, starfish
and anemones,
giggle gingerly
as white jellyfish
float like Neptunes
beyond my reach.
I’m drowning,
liberating, freeing,
burying, sleeping,
cascading,
your hand is only
temporary refuge
who’d save me
when no one’s home
and the bright nightlight
would’ve burnt
until the morning
slowly featuring
my demise, within
a small aperture of your
blind eyes.
I’m alive, dying,
living, decaying,
in between
a lot of things, just
not a human being.
P.C. – Praveen Thotagamuwa on Unsplash
A heathen poet 
I was hooked as soon as you made that sensory shift, right at the beginning, from ‘currying freedom’ to ‘…foam/ from the deep blue’.
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Thanks ‘bud’. For wordpress and all other bloggy ventures, Imma call you bud and talk like a baby chewing on a pacifier. Saunders would appreciate the ‘bud’ if not the sensory shift.
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