she slides her finger
along a seashell's iridescence
and takes a four-second breath
when it's edges break skin-
undecidedly feeling like a rag doll;
devoid of happy moving hands
and a barrage of stitches
where her mouth once parted.

it has never been enough,
gliding over this shining meniscus
with feet painted rose gold
and eyes propped open with twigs.

alas, she crosses her toes
and falls into the surf,
awakening slate grey waves
and a smile full of sand.