What Do You Want from Me.

What do You want from Me?
( it is Not a question)
it is the Answer
it hangs between Us
it is Our Love child
who has stayed up Way too late
and will not Be
put to Bed..

Our child is Sorrow
this longing, This seasickness,
that rose from the
ocean's floor
cradled in Kelp.

My hands Rise, flutter/helpless.
Palms outwards
Useless,dead,crabbellies
Hard/Palest/Pink
Shells.

My Hands.

(and We are Bereft)

They. Are all I have to kill this
Abomination of Colic
We have created
in our Havoc by the shore..

The hour is late, Way too late
the Moon spills Murder
across the Waves
and Sorrow lies Slain
up beach
because/ I /could /not/stand its Sickly
Salty Bleating

One heartbeat more.