The You In Me
I hold you so tight
as if I were trying to carve you into my body.
But I am,
in my own way
slowly marking your existence in mine:
You are breathing rhythmically
on my left chest;
I run my finger along your sharp shoulder blades,
watch your skin stretches as you breath,
connect moles and freckles on your back
--- so I can find a map to your mind.
You are the precipitation of my ire,
The night by the sea,
radiating undistinguished color and sound,
next to a deserted pebble beach.
I am the sediment of your mourning,
the stone in the wind,
carrying indescribable dirge and texture,
stand by the tide at your shore.