you cannot tether a free spirit
you cannot saddle a wind horse
you don’t have to tell me
darling
that chasing el sol
beats
watching the seasons
but
when sprouts spring
and blossoms bloom
with words like petrichor
the world exploding from grey to green
rewarding you for all your suffering
and when the leaves begin to fall
and summer whispers prophetic sweet nothings
just before her final breath
it’s all the orgasm
that I’ll ever need.
I could enunciate the details of every single rock that sunk
and clamored beneath our feet
craggy but soft
eroded by a hundred years of salt baths
each and everyone of them called out my name
I put two of them in my pocket.
“Hold onto those rocks,” you said
“They’re sacred.”
Clenching them in my fists
I feel the rumble of the ocean
the wind in my hair
the fetid smell of algae and seaweed
the soft ripple of tide pools
no matter where I am.
