St. Colette

My lids reflect the gaze back in.
I don’t feel a thing
but the residue of your skin.

Listen. The ocean keeps exploding
a storming display of work, all for
a few rocks cracked open a step
    closer to sand

Amongst all this, I find my
  way back to your lips

and the energy shuttling between us
breaking waves the symptoms
of deeper wilder wider movements
power crashing onto each other’s
                     my weakness
against this is comforting

           - it wants for nothing