I cannot help but pick
out all the muscles in your arms
that surge like waves born underneath
the sea that flows as
all your skin, its current ever sheathed.
O, how my eyes protest and plead
to be immersed, held
as a serf to such fluidity;
a slave to all your brinish form
should steer me toward.
Just as the tides that stir in storms
o’er many months with wrathful aim
to cleanse the filthy
foam onshore do I desire to proclaim
myself absolved and pure, at last
one worthy but to
hear his name thus cast.
1 comment:
Marshall Fletcher said...
THIS IS SO AWESOME!!!
I can't compose myself, I'm sorry!! I just really like this.
It's cool.
=]