I tilt you towards me
and you breathe heavily against my face
your smooth, white porcelain skin
smelling of warm cocoa
after a night of restless, shallow swimming
My neck is a bottle waiting to be shattered
against a ship's maiden voyage
and I lose myself even before
french-kissing the salty sea air
a slippery swooning swan song
You run through me
like fingertip-toeing, piano-playing
stone-skidding on water surfaces and I half-shut my eyes
to sensitize your tactile intrusion
into my soundless morning
The fishing poles have all the baits
but reeling them in might be a little
more trivial than lifting the anchor
out of its watery grave
The dock groans another tired warning
wood on wood on nail and wood and sea
My eyes cloaked on sails, knots being
untied and so the tilting and swishing
and chopping begins
the dance of drowning.
10:15 AM
December 20, 2013
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