Morning fog. Open window. Her muscled
arms. Spooned in silence. Soft boy flesh waking.
One roll and she mounted, sliding from dulled
sleep into howling wetness. Tightening,
vice-like, a groan, nails marking his shoulder,
husky, low. Fog patches filling the gapes
of the bay. Child of the reef, your lover
caught you out of your drowned-skin. What escapes
lust when a muscle-woman puts her mind
to it? Not even myth. Her thighs buckled,
her heels dug into the mattress. She ground
down. Bit hard. Drew salt. Laughed as she reclined
back; let him breathe while sea-water dribbled
between her thighs dribbled down dribbled down.