Your smile are the shapes of the waves,
if a butterfly flutter causes a monsoon,
lips in the photo sent a tsunami army
it hits my island
I lie down in the low tide and let myself be carried to the open sea,
flashes of desire in miniature photochambers served by nanobots,
when i like to drown so much
I'm drowning in You.
The shapes of the waves are the outlines of You, eight months ago.