That Shade Of Ocean
That Blue
Not sky-blue.
Not the polite kind folded into summer dresses
or painted onto nursery walls.
Not the blue beneath the portraits pallor.
No
this is the blue that pulls.
The kind that gathers itself miles out,
shoulders rolling beneath the surface,
muscle and memory and something ancient
deciding to rise.
To roar.
It looks calm
until you stand close enough
to hear it thinking.
Deep.
Cold.
Alive with a violence it hasn’t spent yet.
That blue holds storms
like secrets in its throat
swallowing thunder,
tasting lightning,
waiting for the moment it can finally
break.
And when it does,
it doesn’t shatter.
It claims.
Climbs the shore in a rush of breath and hunger,
wraps itself around ankles, knees, ribs
as if it remembers you,
as if it needs to permeate the skin.
That kind of blue
doesn’t reflect the sky.
It pulls the heavens down.
And if your eyes carry that colour
that restless, rising, dangerous calm
then somewhere inside them
there’s a tide
that never learned
how to stay still.
And neither did you…
My almighty shade of ocean.