There's a pier and a pile of fishing lures,
a boat and whiskey in the air.

There's too many hushed drips of names
and watered down questions.

There’s waves tugging at the sides of my gut
and there’s your lips sucking down the ocean.

Drip. Poke.
Are you still there?

I really shouldn’t have swallowed those nickels.
Salt water corrodes metal, indeed indeed.

You shut a door- a light shutters out.
Hushed drips. Pushed slips. Splash!

The water is cold this time of the year,
be a black seal and slip through the crevasses.

Quick, the shutters are closing faster.
Click.