my mind again returns to these thoughts of mouth:
the parting of seaways; the excellent bridge
of its voice; the smothering intonation of
its warm and bossom cloister.

i remember it in the new morning; naked and shifting of limbs.
it kissed down the back and tasted
between its thighs of sighing and saltsea–cheek and blushing.

i remember and i move:
the winsome drove of its dull dream
catch and habituate me. i am alone in its fingers; and even from which other kisses cannot wake.

occasionally there is laughter–i can hear–from way off.


there is the curving tremble of its arc.