the moon danced off the choppy surface of the water
and crawled through the gaps in my fingers like yellow-clear plasma oozing from a wound
the waves were a child’s hands
lifting and tugging on the hem of my dress
“i need you”, they say, but it’s not the truth
the truth is that i need them,
that I would stand there for hours
with the taste of liquor and cigarettes and saltwater in my mouth,
that i knew when i returned to the people on the beach by the upturned lifeguard stand,
none of them would touch me, or know me, or want to know me
.
wet fabric clutched my skin as we crossed back into the world
past the last light of the local bar, a sick beating heart
the blood gets stale as you move further away
oxygen drained from winding streets
i want so badly to feel safe in this body,
to hold it and have it hold me back, but
looking for a way home involves laying down your notions of already being there
leaves you without shelter, hollows you
until you have only the space,
that which remains in the wake of a flood
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