Atlantis and You

You are not the sea to me anymore.

You are a tsunami,

and I,

an island.

You kiss my shores gently,

and then all at once.

Your hands curve around this green body,

your eyelids line the waters that our moon perpetuates,

your breath pushes my rivers forward.

But the thought of your fingers touching another island,

your words embracing unfamiliar shores and hugging other archipelagos,

it gives me shivers;

I quake.

And my ancient city bones fall.