You exist in a moment
when we sat on the edge of the concrete when it meets the lake
in the night at the end of Chicago.
Our legs were in the water seated on stone.
The lapping of the waves.
The lapping of the cars.
Warmed by the city light.
We were, you and I, in the darkness of the water.
Cracking our heels against the solid stone.

For me you exist in that middle space.
What I thought I was and what I could be.
So when I feel the fog against my legs at night as they pound heavy on the pavement
how can I not be sent back into a thought of your arms.
Alexander, My Great.

Before that, though,
how we sat in Michigan underneath summer stars.
Where we shared voices in a hushed darkness defied.
On the soft sand near the large rocks
watching the expanse between the lights
and the sweet invasion from Chicago’s night.

That expanse, I love
when it melted into your chest and the small stars became your birth marks.
I was born under you.
The stretches of black.
Your stretches of gold.
I still feel the trees behind us
and our friends on the beach and the beer in our hands
and the stars on your chest.

Subjectivity seems like a curse near the rocks in the water.
A name is a thing with stars on its chest
that melts Chicago with coursing waters.
If my truth is objective and you call it love
then my beauty becomes fact in that moment.
Every stone in broken sand we sat on.
The exact color of the fog.
Every lapping of the cars has meaning in it.
Or none of it does and I go back.

Leave the beaches and leave the moment.
Leave with me.
I no longer am satisfied with Michigan waters and Chicago stone.
I want the space we saw.
The blackness punctured by heaven
punctured by you.
I need the space or the planets contained in dark to be with you.
No mixtures, no negotiations, no more breaking waves.
I will sit with and feel the weight of your existence.
Just you.

Our pursuits are to express into the world,
to be able with steady heart and clear breath to say something to you.
I should block out the lapping of the cars and give something to you.
But I am always stuck in these moments with you.
Trapped in the cold of the cans and the silk of the sand.