the tea in my bottle is never still.
in some way or another, the earth trembles.
this land has been wrecked with mother nature’s mood swings,
her earthquakes shaking us apart.
the crops tremor,
and the grass sways in the absence of wind.
maybe it’s the unsteady thumping of my heart.
maybe i mistaken the unsteady lines of its beat on the ECG machine
for that jarring feeling of losing my footing.
do you feel the way the earth shakes too?
do you hear the way my heart quivers for you?

The sound of our laughter is drowned out by the waves at the beach.
There is sea foam lapping at my feet.
Your socks are dry.
It takes some convincing, but I eventually get you to join me in the salt water, your socks discarded in some nearby crevice between two rocks.
The air feels prickly as you stare me down, with something indecipherable in your expression.
Oh, look.
The sun is setting.
When we kiss, I don’t think about how this could be the last time. The sky turns into a hazy hue of lavender, and mist settles over the ocean currents.
You dive headfirst, clothed and everything (except for your socks). I trust you blindly and feel myself dropping backward in slow motion.
All of a sudden there’s a splash in my ears, and my eyes are stinging from the water and the salt feels bitter on my lips.
You meet me halfway, underwater, and pull me up with the strength of a lover.
I remember this well: I’m clinging onto you for dear life, gripping onto wet cotton draped over your shirt, and my legs wrapped around your waist like some kind of parasite.
Later when dusk has come and gone, and all that’s left is us with wet hair at the dock, I’ll ask you the question that ****** us.