photo by Nina V.
when you leave behind a
shirt, or collarbone i
dream up the whole you in
your majestic white coat.
so i sail words out like
paper boats, on water
like baby’s milk, crossing
your elements of style.
when they reach you i learn
about modality and
we both will fumble for
our black keys.
if you reach me i learn
that nothing could move me
almost as quietly
as your hands.
and while we’re changing this
why not rewrite history
as well:
so Noah wouldn’t need
a boat for us because
we could float
and Jonah sailed to sea
because somehow he knew
you’d be there.
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