The Sailor

He is Noah
in his RS Vareo
watching neon javelins fall
like humanity around him.
Once God nearly hit him.

He taught me that rigging
was not just a word for dishonesty
and that there’s more to vessels than blood.
The life jacket remains
his favourite item of clothing.

Perfection glides
across his angled jaw, leaving traces
down his firm, worked chest.
When he smiles, a chord
in my heart temporarily disengages itself from
its power supply.

But now all I have are
two broken faucets at the corner
of my eyes
and that broken chord that stains the sea
as the lone bullet shadow scrapes
the ocean’s ceiling
turning its back on me.