she is the shore, and I am stranded

she moves in like the tides,

as though the ocean copies

her little breaths as she sleeps,

snaking soft against me,

washing away my broken bits

like sand into the deep,

and I’ll build my world

upon

the fault line

of shore and sea,

where we first met,

along the line that curves

like her body,

where she washes me into her,

where I float without fear

of drowning.

because all my hope

ends in a dream

that blurs the lines between us,

and I wake,

to the sound of her sleeping lungs,

as one waking up to paradise,

one the ocean itself has copied.

and i think,

maybe waves can see the future.

and the high tides

are pretending to leave her lips,

and I hope to fuck

that I get lost at sea.