by Alixandria Moore
They were a collaboration of hooked toes
in melting sand.
The waves yearn for the shore—
They split and fold into each other,
white tipped heads rushing
over the blue limbs that rise and sink,
and shove each other aside to swallow children’s feet.
Seagulls circled his head
as the cotton sundress tugged his shirt, waiting
for him to pull her in.
Seaweed clumps sprawled on the shore,
like washed up bodies carried by
restless waves tunneled into the sand,
left to dry in the calloused sun.
She took the waves,
grounded the whites into
the specks of emerald and blue,
and held him in them—
pressed his hand into her own
and prayed he’d yearn for her,
like the waves seek the shore.