The Sextant

A poem

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Joy lights me up
from my shoulder blades
to the backs of my knees,
white-hot fire
across my central nervous system, and
every part of me
touching
every part of you
ignites.

How typical of me,
drowning myself
trying not to burn alive.

I’ve been beaten by these
torrents before;
I’ve swallowed saltwater
like I swallow the air from your lungs.

But even lost at sea,
your touch is the navigation
that leads me home.

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