I drank her lips
a sea of dew fine
spread upon dry land
she was a Royal
I was but a *****
of tender wine

She never danced
or sang
or cared for me
and when she washed
her ribs down with me
I looked inside
and could not hide

Washed my face
to my legs and femur
broke down brittle
to the sands
we went under
and there we hid

-Michael Sinclaire/Michael Mohan