Bottle

The ship refused to move.
She’s grown tired of the storm,
The rocking, the tossing,
And the turning.
I picked her up and swallowed
Her whole without second thought,
Away from the wrath of being gone
Far too long.

Splintered decks and unattended sails.
The ship refused to move,
Stuck in the center of my throat.
Her essence, the reason I cough,
Overwhelmed and parched,
Detained by struck dry land.
There is no sun, there is no moon.

I feel her when she shakes,
Mindful of what I digest.
From the splintered deck, she jumped.
The lump in my throat, a reminder
She lives within me, always.