Lovers’ Narratology

While it is true

the eyes, smile, physique

stir the sea

of love’s young chemistry

it is finally our stories—

the telling, a shared belief

in outgrown shells we trade

glinting in hands

clicking in pockets

calcified remnants of old longings

oft told cautionary tales

bobbing in bottles raked from foam

of stars that left us lost, of whales,

childhood’s eyeless, sunken corpse,

the ocean floor—that build

a boat into which

we push and lift each other

from slate green waves

suck salt from teeth

reach for oars