Sunday, 28 January 2018

that time

when the tide divides my day
  and the sea’s height upon the rocks,
and the strides of sand within the bay;
  when she, with condescension lifts her frocks,
and I, seduced by her horizon eyes,
  breast forward into the waves,
asunder and brought down to size,
  this lust for the tides I crave.
earnest of breath, teeth a-clench,
  my desire is by eye to eye
well met by my spume milked wench;
 once bitten by your waves that I might die,
drowned heavy in ardour, 
  for you, my very own,
my lady of the lichen sea,
  my very own, 
la mort, la mer, l’amour.



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