Marvin’s sea consists of me and not only me but the things we might not own and they swim away from us and close to us, back and forth, breathing lecherously on the waves upon which we tread or into which we drown. How you long for those waves so you might empty yourself into them, each and everything and send them away and in no bottles. And ask for no bottles back. Your bottles sit at the bottom of Marvin’s sea and we feel them in our stomach, they ring against each other, at times the sweetest hum and at others the loudest drum. Your heart will mimic them for a while, the tinging sound of them and gently we move now, so they might not smash them. We are desperate for them not to break. So I might not, so might they. The salt will eventually heal the opening but closed heart, though it burns now and reach out for the sands of time… Only to watch each grain slip through our hands, my hands… where those very waves meet the shore and the tide draws the lines I cannot myself… While the moon and stars pull you closer and then tear you apart.