Coastline

You are an ocean of
unkempt hair and mischievous half-smiles,
where the blues in you break
into the sand, so soft in
the whole, but in parts
you are rough, grainy,
always scraping along barefoot
wanderers.

I wander along, I am
one hundred years old,
i am parchment that
glitters with ink and
unshed tears, the scent
of oily leather slipping
from between my crackling
pages.

Yet we meet in the middle
where the molten rock crumbles into
the cerulean-emerald sea,
as I float carelessly, arrogant and free,
you are solid, secure–as you should be.

-AKM