I'm alright with stepping stones
Water is my second best friend
Next to match boxes and lighters.
The moss that grows is deathly
Afraid of my feet
I make it a habit to giggle
When they run from my soles
So they know I'm coming
When and if I reach the riverbank,
A boy in my left hand and
Pens tucked behind my ears,
Paper and ink running through
My veins.
The fish will hear my foot steps
A mile out for their lack of sound
Clay crowds in on itself as I
Approach again
The water, always flowing
Stops mid-current for fear
I will find my pale blue eyes
Similar to its outer layer.
Some best friend.
But I'll return with a boy
In my left hand, pens falling
From my hair and no paper or
Ink in my idiotic blood
Ridden veins.
I'll come back to the
Fleeing fish,
Crowding clay,
Wary water,
And those ******
Stepping stones.
I've run all out of
Match boxes and lighters.