Stanzas: Monthly Chapbooks August 2015 (Collaboration) | Page 45

Be Lined
Shane Vaughan
It’s the lines you draw, when you stare from my eyes to my past,
drawing shapes of what was and is and how all this is some sort of sick
joke where we collide into each other and talk about how it’s all meant
to be, how all those lines have run themselves dry, how they’ve balled
into a point, into a full
stop
full, full of so much more than myself, like I’m a cup and you’re the
water flowing over my rim. Hold into me, sweetness, I’m a shipwreck
and you’re the ocean swallowing cargo until we scrape the earth again,
pressured by the press of water’s weight, painting lines in the sand with
muddied hands, watching the sift of shape, until barnacled, bereft of
time, asking only how, and we will say it was the fault of lines.

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