I sit here,

            cat on my lap,

            an evergreen forest in my lungs

                                    and silver fish in my heart.



Your blue eyes are beneath these typewriter keys,

                                    behind every sheet of paper.



“I will always find you,” you whispered as our stars ripped apart.





And you did,



                        on a May night warm with sangria and bonfire:

                                    we made eye contact

                                    and our souls crashed



                                    into each other



                                    like wave against wave,



                                    starlight against starlight.