My affection for you
will rise above
the corruption of heavens
and drought of all the seas.

I wonder how the fabric of your clothes
against my skin feels like
as we lay on your bed
and stare at the ceiling
while the fog clouds the window
and your hands lightly graze my neck
making little circles.

If I release you tonight,
will I feel better?

Will I see the ship I need
somewhere over there
and catch it
before the ocean
finally takes me in?

And comfort me
why some poets
are not as beautiful
as their poems.