Sitting in this sweat brine two fresh fish
Touch flesh and share salt to give the blood
A little more taste. The aquatic revolution
is far from being bland, in fact it could do
With a little watering down from the high
Pressure seasons. We've only begun to scale
This flat black wall that makes the sea
Seem like a containable thing in our palms.
There's a mid-day, mid-life point of no return
Where up and down have abandoned their
Logic and flat is as meaningless as any other word.
Deeper is only the pressure of things that
Cannot surround you if they're already in you,
But what is a skull in a place with no air.
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