The perfectly tuned still air is untraceable, and the satin sky-line water just ahead is inviting. It calls to a little fish in my stomach, pulling me in by my eyes.
My foot plunges into shallow water, sand and pebbles bloom away. Ankle to shin, shin to knee, knee to thigh, thigh to hip, hip to waist, wrapped in naturally warm, sun-kissed water. The lake swallows me up to my shoulders and I am home.
Weightless, an astronaut, I pull myself forward with my hands and my feet are grateful for the respite. This new mode of transportation is slow but soothing. In my ripples I see seven moons dancing on a chain like pearls. I pull myself toward them, hoping they will rest themselves around my neck.
I jump off the earth and let my body rise parallel with the atmosphere. I see faded specks of galaxies and stars, despite the ghostly yellow pearl and the orange city glow. Colors start to emerge, faint reds and blues from the myriad celestial gems. A meteor tears the sky, I close my eyes.
All dark, but air still fills me and the water pushes me higher. The surface tension pulls my skin, pulling me back into the water's warm grasp like a lover that refuses to let go. Exhale and snuggle under my liquid blanket. Inhale and the cool, thin rubber stretches across my stomach, my arms, my chest, and my toes again. The lake is steady and faithful, welcoming my return at the release.
Sound suddenly breaks the night and skates across the silken surface. A harmonica is singing far in the distance, but the chords carry and dance to the drops on my ears. Aural elation pierces the silence and glides into growling blues bars, crooning and flowing in harmony with self. The music withers as the moon rises, losing its hue and dropping pearls from the strand.
I reconnect with solid ground, draw myself up and make way for shore, the water tugging at my calves as I leave its treasures behind.
ETA: Sorry if this sucks, I don't really do poetry all that often. =/