For my Husband
My love, you are ocean washed
birthed near the clamor of seashells
being carried by a riot of reverent fear.
They will color your skin sea salt pink,
toss shades in you mimicking what Pangea
sounded like before breaking, and it will
be a collision tasting of white honey
nectar in your mouth.
Let them know my lonesome
lighthouse beacon song brought
you home.
My strung notes in bottles I wedged off
to shore of my struggle to distinguish
whether pain is punishment or a fucked up
form of salvation.
This notion keeps you marching
because you will not allow me
to give up on hope.
So come here, my love.
Let me welcome you by licking
the pearl perspiration off from
your earlobes, & devour any burden
of weight that holds back flight
from our journey to shore.
Just promise me you will bow knot
kelp around my tongue, thrash into
my adrenal glands the iodine
I’ve been thirsty for.
I’m thirsty, so thirsty for you
to seep back into me. My love
we are both ocean washed.
© 2016 Raquel Reyes-Lopez