I turn my palm up in air.
One, two drops.
My soul is water, also.
Can I evaporate?

You are a solid made of liquids.
A solid liquid gas.
Drop kiss me.
You become air.

Dream, hazy, deferred, my first memory of love sitting on a park bench in a downpour, you teaching me to French kiss. What mistake was there?

I do not remember
whether you found me
or I found water
Thirst, quenched.

Gathering you with the same palms
that water grazed—
chasing fog.

We hid in your van even as we knew it was ending. Pattering drops lazy on the hood. You telling me: it was alright.

Continued in Water, Water, Everywhere