listen to me:
I am telling you the sea
so vast and wide and blue
and so reckless but true
in its tidal caress of the sand –
just like your hand on my hip
or my finger tracing over your lip
the unavoidable fullness of the land.
it’s anchor, this sea,
its call and tides never amiss:
it’s anchor and it’s bow and prow and sail,
gentle ebb and flow and quest and trail
and perennial kiss,
and yet hardly there —
a murmur of permanence
almost lost in the distance.
the rain softly drums on the eaves
and caresses the lace of the old oak leaves
with its melting liquid fingers.
there’s that hue of thirst
that always lingers
on your lips,
no matter how many sips
you take of me:
as if each moment’s always the first.
I recognise it, from all the times before:
never enough but always more.
and every time I return
to you, there’s a white ocean bed
and a blue insane and dark as lead
outside our window,
and all this rain that gently drips
drips drips –
my body a slow and wide
deliberate arc around the tide
of hunger in your eyes.
and as your hand
again descends on my thighs
and your mouth sips
the dew and salt on my skin
we are we:
you and me,
one only and sand
and sail and sea,
anchor always and never sin.
© Nina Light CC-BY-NC-ND 4.0 please link back
image credit: “Blooming”, by Olivier Valsecchi @ oliviervalsecchi.com