Was it ever enough that she would appear
from the foam of a rounded swell to sigh
with the whole dark soul of the sea in his ear,
urging him darkly to take her, to die?

The cold salt silk of her skin against his,
the swell of her own small breast like the swell
of the sea itself ~ the salt of her kiss,
the pulse of her sunken heart like a knell.

And all of her thus in his arms until
the breaker recedes and beckons her back,
drawing her down and away and beneath,
forsaking him there on his barnacled rock,
forsaking his desolate arms to trail
where the sinuous seaweeds writhe and wreathe.