it's strange how the light never looks like waves
as it splashes
and
ebbs
and
pours
all over and into the dark
and breaks the silence with the droning hum of the evening.
sitting, warm and intact, we wait for the stars to disappear
so we can be alone.
once alone we operate like a machine
gears made to work with eachother
for eachother.
the sun is a tsunami of morning before i realize
that we've been here all night.
the day breaks and its illumination cascades onto the windshield
before it floods the cabin.
it reaches our chins and we don't bother to breathe
because when you're sharing oxygen
it's hard to drown.