Drunk and angry you said, “Dis clit won’t leck
itself!” — Maybe it will: You’re a princess
made of sea-foam — The sort of aqua freak
who might have a self-licking clitoris.
What do I know? Mermaid anatomy
remains open to debate. We are told
that you embody the ocean’s fury.
That the land-dwellers fear you. That your cold
kiss spells doom. It’s all rot, since tide pool sex
is all about undertow. “Me conch need
a shine, fecker!” I swear, “Going down,” just
then, was literal. “Suk on dat vortex!”
You ask what it’s like? — Try tonguing seaweed
while waves crash down made of pure rage and lust.