Your eyes are buckets of love
That spill onto your shoulders.
You wear a white shirt that is now stained
Because love is red, and it has made you a mess.
You can’t read anymore,
Because your own story is always on your mind;
It’s the story of your love,
And how you planned to splosh it all around,
Filling every one of these rooms,
Washing us all in a comfort and attention
That is so delicate and beautiful,
So long as you know how to swim.