one take // exploiting bathroom’s acoustics
buoyed in a breathless embrace,–
the ceaseless breaking of waves.
crest with oceanic bliss,–
i am shored
by your shimmering, salt assurances.
through channels wide as giant’s capillaries.
as water into wine,
the steady salt and brine
transmutes to ichor, draining out to sea.
daylight is a foreign currency.
exiled to an isle of cotton-silk,
you spend it under unfamiliar sheets.
blankets billow round you like a womb
(rock you to a soft, synthetic swoon).
tidal, you rise,–
reborn beneath the moon.
“Involuntarily, I glanced seaward – and distinguished nothing except a single green light, minute and far away”
– F. Scott Fitzgerald, ‘The Great Gatsby’
Across the digital bay
a beacon, small and green,
flashes, and is gone.
The current: silent, static,
but for a spare grey tick –
the crest of curious interest
not piqued enough to peak
and break the radio-waves.
Airborne swimmer, in flight, she does not cling to herself; she is dispersible, prodigious, stunning, desirous and capable of others, of the other woman that she will be, of the other woman she isn’t, of him, of you. – Hélène Cixous, The Laugh of the Medusa, p. 260
Lips, bitten, blossom forth
They ache to explore
That dark and dew-sweet place
Where tongues – like vines – embrace.
The stirring swell of waves
Which urge to break between her thighs
Come to crest,– collapse in salt-edged tides.
And raw human meat was piled, and steamed.
Silence split at the seams as the living groaned.
Rope-ladder ribs in concert breathed
With the light lapping laughter of giddy sea.
The breaking of waves, a hand which beckoned
To kinder soils; yet stasis settled
As suits and clean faces crooned sympathy
(Then moved mildly away, muttering ‘policy’).
So salted globes on cheek-bones stagnated;–
Even the movement of human tears, halted.