He was a water sign.
You could tell by his ocean cool,
his balmy breeze,
his gently rolling tides.
He touched my skin like the sun and his kiss stung like sea salt on my chapped winter lips. 

But all seas see their storms.
He could be a riptide, pulling me deeper and deeper
until I was choking on salt water
and he was pushing me
further and further from what I knew. And he could come crashing down
like a tsunami,
ripping everything apart in his wake. 
But he was a Cancer.
Cancers carry our homes on our backs, so we choose to avoid
tumultuous weather
and brackish waves.
We prefer low tides.
So even when my northern winds
tore through his hot summer,
even when I snowed him in
and froze him out,
he kept his waters still,
not for my sake,
but for his.