Inside the smolder of first hush,
The night flavors with salt. Calmed, then dewed,
The shore wakes slow from its slumber.
But low tide is not shy.
Needed hands knead flesh between
Sheets of foam,
undulate taut then tender.
Tentacles test, tease, lunge, then retreat.
Warm stomach rises.
Licks of water, first
Soft like ghost wandering,
Rise and raze castles.
Sand swirls in feigned surrender.
The sea ups the ante.
Storm-stomping as Hannibal, it
Summons song of roar, then quiets, quells.
Arguments surrender. In lieu,
Chorus of panting uprises.
Areola grasp to catch their breath when read brilliantly in Braille.
Emboldened astronomer chases each quivering supernovae,
every meteoritic drip.
Miasma of regret muted by briny water.
Head arched back,
Gasps drill/reciprocate siren song into brick wall/that offers little brace.
Conical cleverness ridges opening.
Like clam, pulsed open by steam.
Invites fissure from this wagging,
Marks with strumming.
Humming is instigated
Heavy bonnet heaves incised moon.
Risen tide resurrects the weeping.
Ancestors are not embarrassed being called from the cliff.
Nor am I.
Inspired by sea shells and songs.
Erotic City , She’s Always in My Hair, Under the Cherry Moon, 17 Days, Another Lonely Christmas
*Bedtime Story by Madonna