when he left
all the oxygen in your lungs
was replaced by the sea
no one ever told you
humans can breathe
underwater.

but now he whispers
that your voice is louder
than the riptide in his eyes
and promises that
someday
he'll let you tell him the
story
of the boy
who went to war
and lost atlantis.

understand that
water
takes on the shape of its
vessel
and he is
sixty-five percent
fluid
hold him.

bury yourselves
together
as one drop
in one ocean
one hundred
more times.

he is
seven percent blood rushing
half a percent beating heart
and it doesn't sound like much
but it's
enough.

you're shore
if only for
tonight.