A Seahorse’s Short Manifesto on Romance

I choose the vernacular
of dance—a small silent s,

and sway with you
in oceanic nothingness

like an aquatic spirit,
ethereal, letting form

define me. I do not have
to speak. In the curve

of your body, there is
no such thing as secret.

I know you without
knowing. A mystery—

each morning,
you appear,

a little question
at my side—still

with emotion. We spin,
a lathe of love, tails

locked like slender
fingers inscribing

our names,
the tiny history of us

into the seabed beneath
coral—no other future

in sight, no other shape
for us to consider.