Waters

What are 
these hands 
that reach out 
like whispers 
of gentle wind 
breathing patterns 
over the warm map 
of my body?

Are they leaves 
or rivers 
or a thousand tiny stars 
trembling over me?

Am I dissolving?
Am I water?
Do rivers run 
beneath my skin? 

I don’t know 
but I am flowing, 
flowing, 
a wave breaking 
on your shore

I am falling, 
falling, 
plunging
into a bottomless sea 
where breath 
becomes a question
and answers 
are the taste of salt 
on my tongue.

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