I'm not saying
that I do
but if I did
I wouldn't say
There's a way a moon
moves between the start
and end
of your fingertips,
which is to say

Waves neither come
nor go
but they always taste
of salt
and thunder –
somewhere
between the start
and end of a fire
lies a story
that pairs well
with water.
And I'm not saying

But if I did,
I wouldn't say
There's a way I long
for rain
as long
as your fingers, wet
and reaching
for what's left
between the start
and end of me

Somewhere,
between moons,
I taste a kiss
that can only
be described
as somewhere
between home and thunder
between water and drowning
between the start
and end of a dream

Made only of breath
and salt
from the shadowed slopes
of your back

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