I told her the thirteenth wave is the biggest.
It's also the hardest to define, we tried.
She means the ocean to me
her mouth rolling onto my shores
reshaping how I understand myself.
I have pressed myself into her edges,
held myself still that we might become more
than reflections.
She once rivered the piano for me
two notes like contact dancers
jumbling over each other, only two,
and I never thought something so filled with rocks
could sound so much like the sky.
She told me freckles bloom in happiness.
That makes us untamed mountainside fields –
skin does not believe in weeds.
I believe
we could be fireworks striking against
the bedframes where our hearts murmur
in imitation of candles
because we have already been a rainstorm.
Somewhere there is a jar jingling with all the breaths
we have lost together.
Twice we sunsetted our hands,
unsure who should claim the clouds,
and, knotted together, I loved her quietly,
our knees knocking on each other's doors.
The sky knows the ocean is the biggest thing there is.

A/N: For Mel.