Storm, He

You are the ocean
and I am made of paper.
Burnt wet parchment
on a sea of mirrors.

Who calls you like I do
in the wind, in the dark?
I lost you in the spray
and you found a way back.

I speak to the waves
and you come crashing,
thundering against me
the sea in your heart.

You are pieces of me
beneath the surface,
when the storm comes calling
I hear you in the dark.