Tonight, I am apple skins.
The way your teeth bruise me can never be undone.
I am green, I am cut open
in slices.

Tonight we are a ticking clock,
the Atlantic mocks us
with every sway of its body.
It’ll be a long time before we meet again.

I’ve gotten to know the shape of your palm.
Sun blazing, star gazing summer
taught me how to sing for you
so loud my fingernails shook.
You smell like wet pavement, familiar
eyes like hourglasses,
glassy eyes filled with compromise.

Tonight I hope bravery comes easily:
I don’t want to hear time speed off like race cars,
see it like tear tracks on our ruddy cheeks.

Watching you turn your back feels like my kneecaps cracking,
and my spine separating from my neck.
So I’ll fight until we’re finished fighting
the ocean’s unforgiving waves.

I can’t swim,
and sometimes I can’t remember how to breathe
on land
without you.