Transgress

Floating over,
was always our favorite past routine,
hands on each other’s mouth,
before we dared an independent scream,
about all of those little things,
which didn’t seem important enough,
at the time,
but we were soon proved wrong in that.

Planning above,
saying what our dreams meant inside,
fingers crossed atop our chest,
and secretly behind backs as well,
since we couldn’t bear expose,
telling honestly how we felt,
while together,
yet continually glad we didn’t think twice.

Dropping beyond,
never troubling to look again in reverse,
what we used to be was an accident,
finally in real control as separated,
your island can sink during the next tide,
because I ain’t a babysitter no longer,
until terminal,
except our ships almost collided for a trip.