Oyster
the salt sweats into the flung spray
the stirred spume of the waters
twining the molecules of the morning's
gaze
to windward it lazily plays
like the woman's electric touch
the dawn touching the enlivening
day
the oxygens come evident through the languidly, scented
haze
sitting curled atop the dabbled cover, sipping coffee
with rhythmic grace she bends, sending
skin and fascination within her stretching, seeming
form
in deep quiddity and fire
like the Gulf's thick air, she fills my dry lungs
like the salt she sends to my eyes
to sights delicious in the tides of the night
spent, the sensed yen
spooned loose on salted
meat
like water that
pulls across bone white
sand
rolling, turning, roping into
warm, green depths
again
steps lightened with release
the morning sweet in its suspension of
abiding
unease
long limbs settled fine. rubbers and lipstick lines
indulge and dine on the purer pleasures
of the tree
the woman, the salt, the blending skin, and the
sea.
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