My Muse ebbs and flows

Within the orbit
of your sounds.
Summers soft hush,
winters hoarse wild roar,
autumn storms,
and blustering march
winds.

The dirge of a foghorn
on a misty morning,
forlorn and mournful.
The slap of timber oars on
a still surface, raucous gull cries. 

Within sight and sound 
of your lace caps
and your flared petticoats,
surf breaking on silver
sand.

Flashing silver scales,
cod and hake,
and day breaking over
a morning throve of
golden coin.

Sit and sip a glass at dusk
and watch day die
in the cobalt blue of your
soft warm night.

My core echoes yours,
in leaps of faith,
to cliff face or jagged
rocks.

And on the hulls
of merchant men
and bows of trawlers
working deep,

Your heat becomes mine,
warming the metal
of a broken man,
joint and bone.

My skin woven deep
into the orbit of
movement,
your ebb and flow.

Your breath, hot,
the wetness of a dragon’s
tongue on my face.
The bitter taste of sodium
and air. 

Force hard against my
chest,
my own voice tangled
in your breath

the music of surf,
whispering love songs
to silver sand,
hand on a flamenco guitar,

The rising crescendo,
the percussion
of sun drenched breakers
Your brine drains into
my blood and bleeds back
into your salt,

I am tidal,
a creature of mud
and shallow water,
I would shrivel and die
without your embrace.

    -Dave Kavanagh

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