water in bones. a narrative more like marrow.
sitting in between cartilage and flesh
is a sense of structure
underwater resurrections
somnambulist sea-stars
concurrently killed by crustaceans
re-coagulated, cultivated
clutch the cold sea floor
it isn't ironic because
i am your body
and your blood it isn't a metaphor
because you'd die without
those things you eat
me you grow
back your limbs
a sense of
whole
faith in an unsailed ship
while we are still in port please
come here and tell me why we
persist in leaving unbaited hooks
caught in each others' cheeks.
i tie myself to the plank and hang for days
tied at the wrist, the risk i'd take just
to place my salty lips against the new skin
you've grown around your mouth.