She dreams all year
But it's not the same
As the screen
Or the page.
Her chest compresses,
And her soul tightens.
Your laughter floats across the room,
And whispers in her ear
And to her,
It's the sun and sky.
It's the salty water in your hair.
Forbidden.
We mustn't speak of that.
If the sea is not enough,
There is plenty of salt
On my fingertips.
