I fed my voice to the seagulls.
Watched them snap at my lips
with their polished yellow beaks,
squabble and tear and devour
every little scrap of my last song.

That night, he rolled the stockings down,
kissed the soft white of my new legs.
I will teach you to dance, he said.
I nodded in the dark. Yes.

I wanted to say:
And I will teach you to converse with waves.