Today
we'll catch the first faint slant of morning,
let it lead us till sunset's last, late flash of green;

we'll listen for the sound of sea waves rising,
smell the fury in a quiet coming cloud.

Tonight
we'll rise and bare our bodies to the storm,
let pelting rain pummel sallow skin

until we glisten in the ink-black air, and
your first harsh kiss brings crimson to my lips.

Poetry Magazine