Tara Lynne Groth

We sit on the dock’s edge
--chicken legs on strings dangle from our fingers
--through wood slats
--like floss in teeth

shoulder to shoulder
my leg over yours
waiting for the catch
while the evening sun melts into the harbor

out of nowhere
the words "I love you"
drip from your lips

"I should warn you,
I fall in love too easily"

I pull up the chicken leg
and two blue claw crabs
pinch the skin in desperation
you grasp my shoulders the same
and wait for me to answer.