Nacreous

If I knew what creature’s shell it is
The sea wears down until what’s washed up
Has been washed down to layers, so few
That you can count them all,
No thicker than the toenail
Flicking them over in the sand to rustle and fuss with the sunlight,

Knew what creature has been dead long enough
To turn slight and gorgeous as a jingle shell,
Peachy, sunlight-colored, or, rarely, seaweed green
Like the skin I’ve wished for, so soft,
Then I could shimmer and attract and frighten
Whoever I wanted, including you,
The rustle of my skin against my skin
Tasting to you like saltwater air.