I’m not afraid  to be a pier.

I’m not afraid to be a pier.

Unfurled arm of a girl reaching out for the God of coke-bottle boats and rescue rafts of milk way wrappers.

I’m dissolved by spring tides– my loose candy cane legs licked by oyster oscillations. I have warf wobble thighs but I’m not afraid for you to walk through the labyrinths of my finger prints only to meet me there.

I can’t promise we won’t fall into the water– but I can tell you that we could find lost wedding rings and teapots without arms. I’ll find pieces of sea glass for you each morning and tell you I love you as I breathe through the petals of sea shells. I’ll kiss you in the arms of sea weed gardens– fall asleep by the warmth of the a hydrothermal vent.

Dance with me on the crinkling fingernails of the old pier. I’m not afraid to know that sometimes the only things I can believer are that I exist and that I love you and I want to be lost with you

walk off the pier

float on a breath

look up to see

coral clouds

and a star fish moon.