First published in Moss Puppy Magazine.

In the Adriatic sea, we bob on gentle ripples, bounce like buoys, the salt of the water lifting our limbs up, arms floating to the sides as if we are puppets with taut strings thrust upwards from the depths. Our palms face upwards and legs dangle below us like jelly tentacles. Our wiggling toes have the place to themselves, the underwater as warm and intimate as the space between bed sheets. We had dreamt of eating seafood seaside, calamari pierced with silvery forks and fresh fish with tapenades and the white wine. But last night’s waiter regretted to inform us that the sea has been over-fished, nothing remains, but promises that the imported cod is [chef’s kiss]. In a sea devoid of aquatic life, when I feel the light brush of touch against my ankle, I know it can only be you.