we chase cures for our embroidered hearts
blaming hormones, using needles, blaming seas
i think the frothy whiteness of the salt will find us soon,
and make us thirsty for regret
but somehow the heart continues to reach
for a sail, for a line, for a paddle,
i don’t know in what color hearts do dream,
but i know that at the bottom of the water you’ll find me still
holding my breath, too soon it seems

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