love poime.

you're a transmission,
you are phonogenic
information.

and you are sound waves,
you're how broken-off leaves
know to take root

blue green, vibrating
all tiny finger-likes
which grasp for you

again and again
until they are full, each
wave of you, your throat,

leaves my mouth open,
so your noises climb through
echoes, this coast;

early morning moon,
and dawn; you are chiptune,
and you're whale song.