You called me Land Mermaid.
Oh, if only
I could fulfil that imagining
with hair that soughed and Sargasso-floated.
Back – vaulted,
pike-leaping-paused.
Ecstatic fingers starfish reaching,
surf-rushing to the mooring of your shoulders.
Wave-lapped, love
would we lie entwined,
amorous as seahorses surf-tumbled
tide-drawn, near-drowning, our dance
giving rise to an effulgence of streaming light
fin-flying up to surface.
Ahhh!
YOU ARE READING
Borealis Love
PoetryLove - what does that word mean, what does it comprise? Do we always recognise it when faced with it? Do we value it when we ought to do so? Do we squander it when it is too easily given? Do we ever understand until it has left us and we are left to...
