Muse (Poem)

Him, and those long, pale, fingers,

that stir the savage undulation of ocean that covers you,

like a mermaid wagering her voice for thighs,

so she could feel all that lay between them.

You love him, don't you?

When he tangles those fingers in your hair,

and traces the river of your spine across

the topography of your body's estuaries into the safety of dark harbors,

where ocean drenches land, like a salty-sweet sea rain,

deeply athirst after a prolonged spell of inshore drought.

And here, where the great mountain caresses your sea,

a mooring slip in need of a certain genus of keel,

that saturates, that drenches, what was thirsty,

a having that satiates,

you speak confessions into his open mouth,

where your flavor melts around his dripping ,

sea-salt, soaked, tongue.

And when that shapely vessel coasts into its berth at last,

waves break as the long, verdant, sea grass of your desire parts,

gentle and soft,

against the hull of his soft-wood ribs.

A luscious lapping,

your heart,

an ocean tenderly spilling,

heeded helplessly.

bvk, 2019.