The friction between our eyes
used to be enough to set buildings on fire
but now I'm not even sure
we could light a candle.
You come in so gently,
like a low tide on a Tuesday morning,
but you left like a tsunami,
swelling and breaking,
having no mercy for what you destroyed.
You carried yourself like wind
in July at midnight --
warm and quiet enough
to go unnoticed,
but just enough
that people will notice the changes
when you're gone.
I never got to tell you
how you made me feel so at home,
so comforting, like an endless desert.
But I guess
you've never been so earthly
as you are right now.