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.