The Sea Thing.

on the beach that night, a man was steady standing behind me.
in black, i slide my eyes slow. so that he may not move.
and i watched him.
watch me.

the waves lapped up, closer and closer as the nerves and sacks inside meexpanded and deflated. salt in the air.and i slid the tips of my hand towards the sand, slow.
soft in the shallow sand.the silver beams dancing unto me, unto the frail, cream skin i have been given. by this man and this woman.
and the echos of many dead stars dominoed across my face. the blue specs faded and lit up, faded. just as the lapping of the ocean black.
just as the air entered my chest cavity.
and in the blood i felt the silver, and the black, and the salt.
and the more i focused on it, i could almost feel tiny pieces of sand and salt riding in my veins, flowing there, and maybe scraping the lining of the vessels in my skin, and eyes, and hands.
the sound of it.his boding form. ominous in his stature, and deathly in his demeanor.
i felt the stiffness in his knees and other joints that make you tall.
towering over me. maybe in his neck, or jaw, but i felt it. i understood his place here. his jaw, or his neck. a bit too stiff. he was the type of man that could carry outthe most terrible things. sane. but something animal.he did not know my age, or the name i had been given. my size had been cruel. the nerves responded to the synapses. the hand obeyed.
and slid one inch. and the wave hither in correspondence.
he did not know.
and my hand slid further past.
and the water, there below the old dead and dying stars, flickered and rose.
expanded and came close. close to its true body.
the body i know not to be my own. because he did not know my name.if i coerce a single drop.what world have you given me?