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.

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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.