harp on you.
call on the waves,
collapse into a nice dream.
you make the tinnitus melodic.
you make my cracked fingers want to reach,
and reach,
until they find the divots-
and curl them into bows.
the back of house haunts me,
the riptide between mastrenas makes my skin itch.
it is loud and constant,
but it is home.
it is home because i met you in it,
it is home because here-
here began you.
