Tags
cunnilingus, erotic poetry, poem, Poetry, prayer is erotic, sea shaman, Sedna, sonnet
Blood tastes the same, I found, pressing my lips
first to one stump … then the other. Brackish
tart. Sour iron. Licking her breasts, her hips,
her chin. When it came to combing the fish
and crabs out of her hair I said my prayer,
the whole reason I came. If you can’t do
this, they said, who can? So I came, harbor
master. I came. You still call this taboo
because you lack faith. I call it the bone
crushing depth of the sea. I call it home.
I, whose blood tastes nothing like yours. I call
and call. On the shore. In the crash and moan
of the surf. I’ll lick your stumps clean. I’ll comb
drown your hair. I’ll down with my dead man’s crawl.
