anti:freeze

Standing on a rock by the ocean, clutching several small chips of bone - or are they calloused, shredded skin? - in my hand. One by one, I throw the little chips into the water, before you grab my wrist and whisper stop.

You pull my hand toward you, unpeel my fingers, and gasp.

I have a handful of fingernails. Yanked whole from unknown fingers.

I tell you the story of a girl I knew growing up, who believed fingernails were made of ivory. "If fingernails were made of ivory," I told her, "they would all be worth real money, and people would hunt each other."

"People do hunt each other," you say. "And fingernails are worth something to me."

You take them from my hand and cram them beneath your own nails - planting dead skin like small trees.

We dive into the water and kiss.

You stroke my cheek with your fingertip, and I show you my hands. All ten fingernails are missing.

"You just left my own DNA on my face," I say. "Nobody will ever know you were here."