Heavy pull of tide makes your nipples hard;
suck of abyss on your lips like grindstones.
Others have been worn down by flood, reward
for all perverse natures—we know that bones
cannot last. Already this bouldered beach
has been scoured, cliffs swallowed. In a year
all this will be gone. Let tide-water teach
you all that you need to know. Do not fear
drowning, just love perversion. When you flip
your skirt up on hands and knees, when each wave
pounds your cervix, when your mouth gapes in faint
cool groans and your drool seeps onto salt-tip
stones. Then, perhaps, you’ll learn to misbehave,
as the waves do, without shame or restraint.