Tremors churn
as I tread mapless and confident
upon these shores where I have eaten
sand and swallowed brine,
curled in curves of sea-wind.
The trembling splits a fissured fault:
that in my buried love
still writhing where it's dug,
remains desire for your flower lips,
for a drawn and penetrant kiss,
to knead your fruits
with murmuring teeth
and finally drown in twists of kelp,
led by mermaid dreams that haunt
each time your apparition squirms
beneath my tentative palms.