I’m bobbing in blue waters,
legs kicking below,
arms paddling in place,
nostrils sucking up the salty air.
This is what it’s like to live alone.
I can choose to stay out here,
far from shore,
for as long as I like.
Or I can swim back to shore,
join the mob on the beach,
none of whom know me.
Eventually, it’s back to my rooms.
Here, my solitude is tested.
I’ve no ocean swell to lift me,
no warmth and light to back me up.
If I look around, there’s nobody there.
If I speak, I get no response.
Would I appreciate a pair of lips
pressing to mine?
How about a head to flop atop my shoulder?
At the beach,
there are so many ways to have a good time.
In my apartment.
I’d be happy if there was one.
I’ve been in those waters for the past year or so.
I’m still bobbing.
By John Grey