Sometimes saltwater taffy
stretches me and gestures
in sticky state, beckoning
each slip of sand beneath
my callouses of callouses.
The grandiose sweep of droplets
collect as an exhibition, mirrored
facets of mischievous personas,
each angled at the brighter side.
I wonder if the sun tilts its beams
in further reconsideration
when she stares at the trailing water.
Must you perceive me in
that way?
Are my tendrils trembling
with a locked spring of green sea foam--
truly?
She skipped her duty today,
a blush of gray flocked
larger than last night's geese.