This is how we lose ourselves. In the beauty of trees
and artichoke flowers. Long hours spent
near the river, letting her flirt with our legs,
each lap against the rocks whispering “Jump in,
disturb me, eventually the waves will still
and you will belong here as much
as the fish do.”

We are not in love. Not the way I’ve been told
being in love feels like. But we have been sleeping
beside each other for so many nights and I
am the most beautiful doormat you have ever
walked over.

This is how we lose ourselves. Early mornings
picking blackberries, knees and hands
always dirty from bicycle accidents, bruised
and bleeding. Most days we feel more alive
than anyone has ever been. Most days
we feel terrified.