Tell me something.
When you grabbed my wrist, my hand,
Leaning into the hammock strung from my
shoulder to clavicle, smiling face pressed to leave
an impression, turning lights on behind my eyelids,
making sleep impossible,
were you just fish out of water shipwrecked for these nets?
I've been swimming a long time, but now baby,
I'm up here.
And I'm not winter migration
when things are cold elsewhere.
Some places are too familiar to visit,
even when I'm starving.
Heart flutter echoes through your delicate
flippers, gentle pats tapping an endless sway of ballroom
floor with your search for home. And all I'm asking is
you grow feet. Kick out the driftwood in your spirit,
like practicing to walk stable ground, 'cause
baby, I want to dance with you, to Pull you up
out of that ocean and hold in my hand
a hand.
to feel the waves we've both broken on birth
some tender swing in our steps you can't tell apart.
But I need you to tell me
you're ready
to rest.
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