This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at Duke chapter.
When brushstrokes
were climatic periglacialÂ
when water was stillÂ
I saw ultraviolets
fluorescing in circles
your hands
tearing the sky
and holding it.
Not much
to recall but
conches those spiral ears
flashlight sunÂ
how you
cameÂ
and came
once and once
and for all.
There isÂ
a wave buildingÂ
within me, it sings.Â
I make noises, forget wisdom
in close quarters, forgetÂ
singularity oscillating,
forget the shape of memory—
just “I love” now.
More songs hum aboutÂ
pain, never the relief after it.Â
Come closer,Â
wash this syntax with your hands.
In the soap a reflection
of you. Â