she falls softly at his feet
gentle strokes lapping upon sand
touching white seafoam skin against her own
a soft touch of a lover’s hand
crushing through pink ribs
how heavy her footsteps tread
his broken, ribbed teeth pressed further, further into grit
yet no salted blood to shed
‘not many people stay this long,’ he says
‘they tell me i’m too cold.
they say i’m rough, unforgiving, a menace,
that my emotions are not controlled.’
her hair is long enough to graze his skin
and slithers of emerald bones wrap her toes
‘let me tell you a story,’ she whispers
of what no other ocean knows.’
‘my mother came to you years ago
she outstayed her welcome too,
in your cool embrace she took her slumber
in life, in death, with you.’