I am on the wings of a pelican fleet,
or caught up on its totipalmate feet,
I am falling off, a micro tumbleweed,
Into a vast beach of caramel seaweed,
twirling descent like a curved autumn leaf,
will I shatter or be buried like a seed,
My body rolls on the beach of slush and candy,
no sand or shells, but her simple tapestry,
the scent of her lips and that wet honesty,
My fears approaching, fierce and glossy,
black peas amidst adolescent tsunamis,
toothless killer whales, cold as the tea,
Oh, they are not real—just lost inventory,
hoax of mind, grandeur in its solemnity,
ever renewed, ever teasing my frailty,