my toes gripped the cold, hard ledge while your fingers gently slid down my back.
below, leagues below, the water smashed against the shore and the white foam
it created lingered on the craggy rocks like your macchiato mustache.
the stupid gulls’ cries were drowned out by the gale-force wind that seemed to
call to us to jump just in case we had recently gained the gift of flight.
