The Big Leap

She was him and she waded, waited
and waded. Pete and repeat, I ate it,
what are we going to do now? Fish it
from my gullet? Make fun of men?
Reconciliation happens in the blink
of an eye. That same familiar face,
the smile, those thighs, and that scent.
I long to know what happened there.
Red and black start the perpetual motion
of waves into sand leaving marker pen
vandalized star fish, shells, and seaweed.
There is nothing that can be done to rewind
this one. This does not come off with soap
and water. Like scrambled eggs, salt, pepper,
and feta all scarred and broken—as if there
are any constellations. DearGodJupiter. The Moon.
Nails and hair grow long and steady well
after the big leap. It shook me to breathe
in my first breath in decades. Resuscitation
was offered. He tried hard. Lived for years
off those hectic shallow breaths. I am at
his mercy. I'm down. Felt my wings stretch
out for the very first time. Reptilian. Black.
I accept that I belong near water,
where I can uncover my scaled tail,
let down my tendrils, and snag a pirate.
Let's hope he's straight, interested, honest,
and fair this time.