Magellan

out here
the threatening curve
of the horizon,
bending
where it shouldn't.

it drove Magellan mad,
&, whitely furious with the sea,
he tiredly drove the
prow of his ship aground,
teeth jolting in his jaw
with the force of impact

inside of her, later,
he felt isolated
& fixated instead on
the rumpled, dirty sheets.
all her coy murmurs
turned to the susurrus
of waves,
lapping
at the shell of his ear

he spoke to her of the water,
of dry climes & of frozen,
sadly told stories of dead sailors
sinking into new depths -

she pretended to astonishment
but was empty for a good fuck.
under the sheets, she toyed idly
with her sex, imagining
another man

Magellan's white fingers
navigating her body.
he is imagining another
new ocean,
feels fear
quivering
in his bones.

the window is open.
from without:
the sound of rain -
the sound of bells -