Literature
tell it to the moon
When our ship went down, there was fire on the water;
flames reflecting in your irises, for a brief second,
before we were torn apart by an explosion on deck and found our bodies sinking,
along with other dead weights, such as planks,
gunmetal and unidentified dark and light matter.
There were no sailors left alive, no captain to put the blame on, squarely;
and truthfully, boy, my mind went blank, shortly after,
but I can speculate that we must've been washed ashore
at about the same time, somewhere between a dying star's last teal spark
and the rising East-side sun's first amber-ray glow.
When next I woke, it was to extreme discomfort,