" Waves of Shore Acres "
Beyond Charleston,
where fishermen plunge the swell
of her courtesan breast,
lay my sandstone bones gnawed smooth
by this ocean nymphomaniac.
She rushes at me, lips peeled,
her froth locks twist behind;
explode over knees
onto the bowl of my hips.
Thunk is the sound.
Say it as you inhale.
Feel the ‘n’ capture your throat;
captive to the storm. Thunk.
Then let the k out, the woosh released.
Through ribs and up my spine,
her orgasmic launch of lunar lust,
a gravel churned cry at tidal moon.
Desire spent, she rends into drops
of coital tears that trickle back,
are sucked down, become
her next onslaught on my bones.
When clouds pile—roil with wind,
leather garbed, she chortles her way ashore,
brandishes whips of kelp,
breaks trees across my knees.
Her rhythm swells; liquid tongue
drools on cliff bound spruce,
combs ocean debris into my hair,
washed clean, each lull
by fresh water rain.
© 2003 Steve Williams
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