I like when you speak.
     Now you’re making Os with your mouth,
     (or are they NOs?)
Either way, the next day:
protect those little pearls tucked away in your mouth.
From me; a deep red sea diver,
packing myself up.
Weighed down then floating up.

I came up, air head,
breathe — and another she gave it to me: “We’re dead.”
Her tongue was salty. Breath crisp like I’d never left it.

*No soles, no golden grains; white washed out.