The Berg

I can feel all at once so safe and yet so compromised
when your body moulds to mine,
I get that sinking feeling and I’m sorry
for the drowning butterflies,
now dead petals in a deluge
or pieces of torn paper

I say I’m frightened of you and you ask why
And I say
Well, not of you
but of the space you occupy

You are the raft
but also the berg
And you are the body in which they both exist
In every cinematic angle
You fill this page and the next, and all the pages in the world
You are your surroundings
and all that you surround

Like water

In every nook
All parchment turns to pulp
and there is no more to be said

But that’s okay with me
Because from my inundated lungs
I gave you the last gargled word.


– C.H.Argent

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