The sky is a low, flat razor above
your balcony before the dawn.
And how I feel right now
I might knock against the sky.
Your bed becomes an ocean at night;
we arrange each other’s limbs around us like sails.
There's something fleeting between us like the wind.
It's all gentle like a tide receding,
something you can’t keep or hold on to.
Footprints in wet sand
never last all that long.