He held my cheeks in his hands like my lips could break
And before him the sea would've swept down his throat and washed away the sand that had settled in the knots of his grinding bones
Reviving the reefs under his ribs
And sweeping away the crusts of salt clinging to his tide worn flesh.
I returned once again to the lighthouses I had built in the palms of his hands
Fingers coaxing through and slipping under wave after trembling wave
He knew where to touch, he knew how to behave
Yet I've let him sail far, far, and farther away.