Nacreous


Kelp-dizzy

sea or any ground

liquid enough


seeps pleasure.

I’m moving


to the moon.

Wet trouble,

my pearl-soaked


muse, my gritty tremor.

We upwell,


admit this wave-reek

lust, this bruised

wish itching. Dizzy


won’t do. I who drown

won’t undrown you.


Tidal, I

whap brackish the bed

I cannot harvest.


Our wreck splits

at bone last.

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