trudging slow past milder new york beachgoers,
you stooped in the sand to pick up a shell,
and i crouched with you.

you told me as a little girl you would fill buckets
with shells, and the next day they would “smell
halfway to kentucky”

you picked out a tiny shell for me,
and i tucked it away in my denim pocket

and today, i dont smell halfway to kentucky
but my nose is burnt pink from looking up
and smiling southward

it’s a soft touch
on your lips
and rolls gently
down your
tongue

and your mildew breath sits
in a soft glow
in the pockets
of your cheeks

o, this morning
has been cold

and im shaking
but filled softly with life

you are outside
breathing off the edge of a cliff
and i
am bouncing a balloon on my pinkies

and i will never let it
touch the ground

no
this is how i will exert
my control

because:
we all want to fall

but i
   will
       never
           let it.