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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.

Babylon Crashing