slow enough that if time were a tree,
you'd watch the leaves fall into the river that is life,
rushing us into the next event.
love is that foundation for a well
where your leaves can turn the water you share into a sweet tea
leaving no bitter taste in each other's company
until the roots have long soiled
this day means you've come out of your lighthouse
because every other boat mistook your light
as a signal to help them pass by,
but this one...
this one knew it meant "come in,
i've got warm milk and records that haven't spun in years.
i know a tunnel that'll take us to the bottom of the ocean
where splitting apart only holds its literal meaning."
you know, sometimes it's cold when you first step in,
but if you wade long enough, it gets warm,
from your ankles to the neck, and washing over your head
you'll swim like no other, i'm sure.
so where do the tides go from here?
you can chart maps into the ceiling with your eyes,
of places your togetherness will take you,
or you can tear them down, and replace the sky
with a mural of your love itself,
while your daughters call out from their purple cloud ships,
"man and woman overboard"