Between Stars and Steel
I. Contraband at Sea
I was just a seaman,
wet behind the ears,
scrubbing steel and shadows
in the middle of a salt-slick nowhere.
He was a lieutenant—
buttoned in rank,
but undone in the quiet
hours of the night shift.
He sent me poems.
I sent him songs.
We traded midnight confessions
like contraband—
dangerous, delicate, divine.
II. What’s Born at Sea
We both knew the rules:
what’s born at sea
doesn’t survive the shore.
Back on land,
he disappeared into his world
and I into mine.
Still nursing the heartbreak
I’d carried aboard.
But somewhere
between stars and steel,
between whispered poems
and stifled desire,
a part of me felt seen,
felt held,
felt loved—
if only for a moment.
III. I Love You Once
He said I love you once.
Like a lifeline.
Like a question.
I held my breath and couldn’t answer,
because saying it would make it real.
And real wasn’t safe.
So I drifted.
Not because I didn’t feel it—
but because I did.
ISSUED 