He takes her to meet some friends;

Monet, Renoir, Degas, Picasso, Warhol

They look on as she turns to bury

her face in the crook of his neck

She breathes him in

as history exhales its echoes

through the Ivy League halls

Tell me you haven't been holding on

To the loneliness

All alone

Reaching into pockets

Of last chances

And laying change on the counter

Tell me you haven't hoped

For little paper notes that could float you

Night to night

I pray those pockets

Are silver lined

With ideas

Of spending enough time

That you know you're worth more

Than getting out alive

Tell me you haven't dreamed

And been seduced

By four walls and a bed

Convinced

The only safe-place is in your head

Or that pain isn't real

If given enough time

Please don't tell me

It's all in my mind

It’s illogical to think

That when a rock is thrown

At the lapping waves of the ocean,

It won’t sink.

You are my ocean, love.

And I hope and hope

And fail

to not drown in the possibility

Of you and I