wet in braga, down in lagos
where we go to escape seeing eyes, knowing eyes
to escape to temples of the sea,
then once there, we step inside
toes first for you and for me, heels first, yet legs in sync,
and inside ****** temples is there marbled ash and sea vein'd patterns
and is there samphire growing along the corners of our coastal home
but inside our temple, away from the singing shine of the sun, away from the ringing eyes of the sky, sit we in a chair,
you under me, legs spread as a king with your hands squeezing the armrest
and my body rolling like waves on top of you,
vision is hazy as you stuff your face into anemones bound to my ribs,
soft and plush, lush and plump, fat jugs that move like seawater, that moves like soft coral,  
you kiss me with your tongue as a master and I grab onto your bearded cheeks as a slave,
a desperate one, who begs for your loving mercy and kindness
as I await your order to put you inside of me, as I await your order to mount you,
and as a jezebel, I lure you into a perfumed bed and I lay there
lolled open as a wildflower
I smell as a salsify and with a roaring pleasure that swells over my billows,
I wait to satisfy you and to swallow your troubles away as the sea



as we wade down old cliffs, roll through old cities, I drink from a bottle with water
coming from algarve, as it brings ripples into our existence,

it has fluttered away . . .