You are mud and seashells, gale and lull, give and take.
During ebb, when the world condenses into white-purple flashes and soft euphoria, I may reach down to plant a kiss on your slimy forehead.
On other days you remain a secret, a soft glimmer beneath the waves, a statue of sharpened rocks barely concealed by the water’s brim.
Sometimes I can but discern the tip of your fingers sticking up above the surface, still I know you’re there, waiting, moaning with the flow.
Counter current, you paint me as your queen – eyes like shipwrecks and with the hands of every drowned swimmer entangled in my hair, and the mire beneath our feet sighs in content as it starts to pull us down.
Henna Sjöblom is an aspiring novelist residing in Finland. She enjoys writing fiction, poetry, surrealism and feminist rants. The goth girl next-door. Aspiring author. Monstrophile. Horror enthusiast.
She writes to cope with mental illness and everyday experiences.
Her works often deal with mental illness and various states of mind.
She blogs at https://murdertrampbirthday.wordpress.com/.
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