You said breathing is floating

feathers, not moving waves

with your lips.

But, crashing ships sound

better than brass buttons

slipping through unsewn holes.

It’s the pressed greens against

her skin that send waters

into drifting homes and shake

sails into falling cloth on

bedroom floors. The faded paint,

or the faded skin, just me

moving waves with my lips.

(Source: headsarehouses)