Not even 10 feet of flood water could keep me from you.

A night spent drinking your brother's supplies
and singing along with the saddest songs.
Swaying in the dark damp street near your house.
I laughed and held your arms away,
while you struggled against my defenses.
The family downstairs wasn't home
but we'll still pile textbooks over vents,
and worry over lighting candles indoors.
Softly, I move my feet over the carpeted floor,
avoiding that one place right before your door
where the loose plank underneath always creaks.
Our bodies glow in the faint light in the street
that filters softly through the church windows.