The beating of tidal waves
like a deep ocean crash
formed sailor's knots
against the walls of my
stomach.
My hands,
pale and red at once,
tremble visibly
on the steering wheel.
My insides are poorly set-up
Jell-o.
Green a sloshy,
the kind your great-grandmother makes
for those stifling summer reunions.
The windows are rolled down
and the early summer heat rolls
by and dampens my brow
and I am sweaty and
terrified.
The brunette girl in my passenger
seat is excited, egging me on intently.
I leave her in the car, my best friend,
and make shaky steps
up concrete steps past
overflowing purple phlox.
He steps out in an apron, messy hands
and a smile.
"I really like your dress"
And all the moments
in movies come flooding by
like static on an analog television
and he is adjusting the rabbit-ears
and I lean in with
an unsteady hand to
graze the stubble of his jaw
and tilt his face by slight degrees.
A soft, supple
press of lips.
Oddly,
I haven't messed up.
I am quaking like an infant sapling
but he is calm,
a glassy sea.
Our bodies,
seeking for familiar comfort,
find each other
in a warm, lengthy embrace.
I am safe and calm
in the sinewy strength
of a tall, tall boy who
steadies me.
The sailor knots loosen
by his hand,
and the waves are contained,
a sailor found,
as a I drift
down the porch and
past this lighthouse sailor.
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