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.