The moon sets over me.








I have become an empty tide with no shore,








pulsating with the weight of an ocean.








Coast lines anchor me







just to set me free.
















II.








The smell of his skin covers my body,








and this is not an afterthought







he is the reason I breathe.
















A table, two chairs,







we drink our last drink








and I count the hair on his arms,








every freckle that adorns him








and document to memory.








I chose a summer dress








so that his last memory of me








is of breezes and loose fabric.








Aquamarine for a fantasy.

III.








I belong no where else.

Lovelorn and free.