Of course this is tenderness. Of course, this
shall hurt — tenderly. Memphis’ levee
cracked, as levees do. From pressure. The hiss
of sea, two fingers just so, that achy
need to let go. Let those fingers in. Deep.
But you said no. No. Let the pressure build.
Then, not yet. Then, fuck me. Let waters seep
around stones gone cracked, stone left unfulfilled.
Sea is passage yet you’ll find it a vast,
rough fuck. You, precious stone, go splinter-splish
this way and this. Tender be tide, we’re told,
all which sucks feeds, all which flows needs, aghast
that such levee broke. Old sea was brutish,
nothing rose from the depth, child, nothing rolled.