The blue is (A poem)

(I wrote this last year, when some of my feelings were unrequited. I know it does not rhyme. Not all my poetry rhymes. While I do mostly rhyming things, I like playing with imagery. So while this one is a bit of a downer, enjoy.)


Clean cut waves made of paper and flowers
Crumbling down, folding in the wind
She is in the belly of the ocean
Its stomach acid dissolves all the pigment in her cheeks
A smile, a laugh, a twisted gesture of approval
She keeps a floating
The water pushes her down
The telephone rings and she answers it
A smiling echo of the museum and art galleries,
Of the cinema and islands drifting in a puddle
The sound of chimes and then a blurry buzz
Back in the water, clawing at the thin waves
A joyful shove, eyes meeting and then retreating
A laugh, a smile, a dew drop of blood
Back in the waves
Tumbling and thrashing
Screaming loudly, silently cursing
Letting go would be simple
Falling back into that warm dark place
But the cold is worth the worry
And the blue is