Requiem for Michael, in Seville // Sarisha Kurup

she found God in the salt of his skin
one Sunday afternoon in July
 
it was a purely secular affair
two pints and three e-cigarettes
a ghost of a touch on
her bare inner writs
sometimes the tide pulls you in, he said
who are we to fight it?
 
she felt it in her lungs
a chord accidentally played in minor
the waves just before the crash
he didn’t say anything but
she could taste the Mediterranean on his shoulder blades
they had always loved the ocean
 
he was tan for an Englishman
a little too skinny
ribs like a bird, but no wings
sometimes she thought she felt
the ridges where they might have been
most nights it was too dark to tell
 
he liked to trace the world on her back
some still evenings
tell his stories softly and
she could feel his breath on the base of her neck
heat on silken skin
 
Paris is a champagne bottle just opened
Dubrovnik only lonely
but darling the ocean is where we’re meant to be
i’ve never believed anything more
my ashes with yours, sinking to the bottom
bite my lip—that’s seawater
don’t hesitate, it starts and ends here
in the blue hour, I discovered Him
 
two days after his last she found
sand in his empty shoes