You’re a full set of lungs.
You’ve got arms long enough to stretch
from your back porch to the ocean
and brown eyes big enough to hold your abundance of hope.

When I think of you I’m right back to:
midnight starry walks in those woods,
lucky to be in your light,
drunk off my face on that stuff
you give off.
Lost girl finds a promise somewhere
out there
of finding herself
in the canopy of trees,
or the neon moon,
or the leaves jumping ship
& falling at our feet.

I’m still driving home from that place
where everything was both within
& out of reach.
I’m still wondering what you’re made of.
I’m still half thinking that I’ve made you up.
I’m still wishing that I had lost
my keys in the sand that night.