Either Oar

Leak into the routine of
stroking the storm
-ruptured sea,
there are cracks in my
palms from visiting
this again.

I must have more to fill, blistered from
injecting
all of this weight into
description,
repeatedly caressing,
delicately;
too lazy to layer it
directly.

Tasting the sweat of the air,
(salted heavily like
brimming
eyelids)

the sky is savoury tonight.
I've seen it before,
either oar building
up a foam,
with focus on horizon's limp light.

an: I can barely swim, hehe, don't know why linking with water (again) seems to help.