Razorfish

We barely notice the sharp stones
between our toes when the water
floods the shore. You can see me,
my neck and arms and thighs,
my stomach pulled in tight because
we're by the sea. The white froth is
champagne, soaking my ankles,
making my skin glisten with pearls.
You tell me your father will be here soon;
that we should kiss before he comes to check
how many razorfish we found in the flat sands
but finds us carnal and drunk on seawater.