Stilts

Photo by Aditya Bharadwaj on Unsplash

Heavy, hard-pressed
beneath your head,
words too big to fall
from lips
parted for a kiss,
a softer violence.

Too small to survive the sun,
they shelter in my throat,
clenched
for us both.

We are paradise
on wooden stilts.
Our wet toes dangle
in the warmth
of every almost.

Each setting sun
hands the moon
a mirror while
blue water
darkens to black.

I press
our edges for answers,
shorelines that don’t collapse
when named.
You sleep,
free from three words
that could pull the sand
from beneath us
or anchor a tomorrow we cannot see.

What do you dream,
your head on my chest,
above the waves
and the words that wait
behind lips and teeth,
only to be swallowed
by the inching rise
of a silver-streaked sea
that already knows.

©Just Kayla, 2026