We were distraught, iron, and sick.
Drain the salt from your ears,
lay inside a mattress and watch
the world extract the secrets
of drunken mothers and failed
tests hidden inside of buried conchs-
we stared and hummed listless
I remember the beach. When we
threw stones, threw our wishes
we agreed when everyone was
cut or fucked or brimming
that sometimes the whole movement
is just you and me, tide
we are not revolutionaries, sand
we are the revolution, wave.
nothing’s wrong with that, but
I love you and I mean it. Unashamed
and unimpaired I am barely floating.