your witching spot

Yesterday
I salted
your mouth.
Today there is
a warm, briny
sea
between your legs
as you float,
soothed
by the kiss
of ripples
across
upturned nipples.
Your thatch
of hair a bed
of kelp.
Skinny dipping
near Santa Cruz,
the sea
shimmering
through you,
waves lapping
at your clit
just like I did.
And at each silk-
like stroke
you thrust
your ass up,
heave your hips
out of the water,
as if I were still
with you,
guiding
my tongue
to your witching
spot, as if
you were a sea witch
and all the ocean
your lover.