laie chicks


    This humidity looks good on you,


    crisp and curled like the welcome leaves


    encircling our necks and hearts.


    I never knew so many chickens had crossed the sea


    to lounge and loiter in America’s stolen paradise.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    The ocean roils and spits liquid flames,


    rattling tiny ocean crabs like bobbleheads


    in little grass skirts, eyes poking above the sand.


    We steal kisses like swimmers steal breaths


    and surfers steal waves and wind steals whisps


    of my long hair when we cruise through the island’s


    night, sweet bug fiddles matching us in pitch.


    Waves slap me silly, push bursts of silty sand


    into my skin as I cling to you, a red and white


    lifesaver six feet tall


    Let’s not go back.