Creating a Safe Distance at Sea
You think I float lightly
though I'm aware no testing, tenuous fingers
massage the burrs of the barnacled
heart in the dry docked heap.Like the pitter-pat of sky tapping feet:
your faery train, streaming offspring of sleep.
Mineral hips devour as the nape of your neck
obscenely perfumes the maelstrom's swill.Snagged on the waves I resent
their consuming troughs of devotion,
swirling straits of arterial wounding,
blue canoes of the sea's inhumation.
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