I learned to walk when the rolling sea ceased
to roll like the earth. I learned to sleep on
billows when you taught me about your creased
lips that tasted of lime. With your tampon
between my teeth I ached for that other
low tide. I didn’t blame the moon, that time,
when you pulled your swimsuit aside. “Lick her.”
I won’t blame it now. Let the sea’s stars climb
the sky, I will not drown while going down.
Without sea legs I drank my fill between
your hips. Rising. Falling. Groaning
of a ship’s hull about to buckle. Drown
with your tampon between my teeth. Sea-queen.
Argos-eyed. You are the vast Deep, moaning.