She is the perpetrator,
the yellow steam,
the crunch of clams shells on the shore.
She slams fisted palms above the waters
the ruddish boats blow,
steam from their tops,
mildew from their bows.
The drolling troll hides beneath you,
you navigate through dreams
with the insistence that trolls
are modern day toll roads.
Bridges now ebb to you
and fall apart beneath my webbing feet.
I clutch onto you as a snails slug glue,
beheading the beauty in you
I fall deeper still into idle water
the smell
of the fireflies we used to catch
let out their neon flames onto the tongues we used
once
a long time ago,
to weave past your blue.