Drink

at 90% water I am at low tide
sitting with my glass of amber
barley and hops drying my nucleus
hoping for a tickle of my brittle brain
you sip purity with a straw
with hopes that at 98%
you’ll hydrate into your own
private ocean
or evaporate from yourself
from me
when we hug my mouth is dry
and your eyes seem more aqua than hazel
I drive with thoughts of adult swim,
wet lakes where I can see the bottom
and you, poolside

Beach Walk

the first time I saw a beach of pebbles I thought of you
how sand sprawled into forever, the way my foot sinks into it,
it has no beauty compared to this sound of water
receeding over pebbles, the tree trunks humbled by l
anding there on the beack of rock, so fortunate to be away
from gritty sand and those broken shells that stick into my tender arches
the way you stuck into me with sharp broken edges,
like a broken fossil, or the snail’s home
abandoned and broken by the raging waves,
how I hoped for smooth pebbles, dark and emerald
under Pacific waters and some pink like the parts I’d shown you
and standing on miles of smooth I laughed at my marginal self
wondering where you were and what jagged thing wasunder your feet