I am
the sailboat
made
of seagulls
singing
to the magnolias
between your
fingertips,
the meeting
place
that interweaves
your voice
and dreams,
all the colors
of throbbing
constellations,
red
dripping
from my shoulders
unto
your lips.
If your ocean
had a door,
I’d shipwreck
my breath
against it.