Sometimes

I think of that far away sea

Wishing I was

in the bottom

dead fish and fossils

discarded bodies

resting underneath

moss and algae growing in my sockets

in the darkness of my mouth

But then I wake up

and grab a decaffeinated, salted caramel, oat-milk latte

And forget about the damn brunette

the guitarist with bleeding fingers and tangy stingers

and the darkness of the pit