Woman By the Sea

She has come out of the spume and spin-drift. Drip, drip, drip. Her mirage salt-licked into reality. Prodigal hormones surge in, half sunken times, elbows dripping as they muscle through with an adolescent vigor. Now this wet woman, the sun slipping over bare shoulders. He expects a large pearlescent clam, but it has slid away to a land that only exists on repressed shorelines, subliminal glimmers. From the position of his parked car he looks down. The rhythm of the lapsing waves the ribbon of the beach, lasso him to an umbilical fetter. He hears her heart, her breath, the call and urgency of her blood. He knows she knows him - always has.