fluidity
by the ocean we had sand on our legs:
it covered the curves of our calves, kissed the bend of our kneecaps.
we could sit here forever, i say.
if we do, the ocean will lap at us until we fall apart, you say.
what then? would we dissolve? would we become a part of the tide,
or would we always be separate?
i look at you in the glaring sunlight, and suddenly you are a castle to me.
golden and crooked, but seeking the sky.
a facade of sharp elbows and jetting shoulderblades,
a winding staircase of spine.
i look at you and you are crumbling away as the tide pulls you,
you are cracking, collapsing.
will you be lulled into devastation with such cool beckoning?
i grab your wrist, streaked with glassy drops and salt,
and suddenly you are whole again.
made of flesh, and perhaps not of sand.
the tide retreats, but i hold you to keep from forgetting
