Telling: Streams & Logs



It was the beach that opened my mouth
when you leaned in to kiss me,
and words of no concern 
that broke my heart
on our return. 

It was the press of tomorrow that famished my rest, 
and laughter from beyond the door that lapped 
and nipped and eroded my shoreline. But

then, turning around,
it was words that told like rain on the roof, 
rain on the ground and in the branches, 
words of unraveling and relief 
that opened me to the kiss again, 
all lip and tongue and teeth.