Long are the nymph’s limbs lithe in their being
close on white cotton, satin spread wantonly apart,
and close is my moment of mature desire relived.
She wakes like a wave of emerald sea upon my shore
and my sturdy vessel veteran of many voyages sails
her pristine clear aqua vitae of blue, of red, of gold.
Sweet is the wet I feel lapping against my solid keel
as I plough my prow through her furrowed swell.
Saline sweat smears our skin like seawater washing,
drenching us in sin of a forbidden harbour plundered.
We lock like gates holding in still waters, safe from
the tempestuous wrath of the great green ocean.
The horizon is a distant place, flat lined of nothing.
We, here, curling into our heated being, lie in circles
of one heart, one mind, of bodies both young and old.
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