She clings to the curve of your lips
her shock of windswept hair
hangs from a cliff of longing .
Below waves thresh jagged rocks
as fish leap lusterware scales
in thrashing waves of her eyes.
How many others cling
like she does
to move high as tide rides
gasp at blowholes
to waves of magnificence
higher than the hunger
of seagull’s screams
that hover over her bouffant hair
like the clouds above?
How many women think your lips
are fathomless sponge cushions
stuffed red-emperor-fish sweet
to murmur sea’s throb
eddy effervescent saliva
split to smile
buoyantly rippled
hermetically sealed
and pooled into silver
by the moon?
How many other women
do you need to taste and breathe
while my best friend
hangs from a cliff of longing
terrified her waves
are only runnels in your
seaweed heart.
HOW MANY!!!
Karin Anderson copyright 2012