the shock and tremor of clenching tissue.
Runs like blood, fresh and warm
feels like sex and healing hands.
Land rushes toward death,
murdered on the line where rollers break.
Salted sips meet foaming lips and tongue.
The ocean rises not a jot -but heat
infused, it tastes like primordial birth,
I am there in the black skies
of summer’s mourning.
A pale fish swimming in electric water.