Poem

Tossing
Turning
Tickling toes
The sun comes up
in your cerulean eyes
Telling the story of a summer
petrified, purified in a petri dish
pushing
pulsing
pouring
eyes deeper than the marrow of bones
broken then mended
melded into something stronger
love like worms
dangled from an invisible string
that would tie us together
tighter and tighter
and instead of fighting capture
we'd learn to
swim together.

Erin wrote that a few months ago. Time shifts perspective, but motives are enough to capture thought.

I said I mind the distance.
Wes