Defiance

Write something else.
I'm told.
All the time.
How to explain
this:
that every song
comes back to you.
every poem.
every sunset.
all the rain in the sky.
the green in the trees.
all the words in the world
are the rumble of your voice
against my collarbone.
the tangled knots in my hair
are your fingers
the rough roads of stone
that I stumble on
are the callouses of your palms.
That my cuff links cover
the patch of skin that belongs to you,
and only to you.

Throw away the baggage
is another.
How to explain
that it isn't
baggage
just gravity.
You're the moon
and I'm the sea.
Or the other way:
I feel pale and cold
and you were always
roiling.