The world’s eyes own her now.
We stare
at her ocean
foam body
to crash.
To
crash.
I see my eyes
speak back
as I
look
into hers.
You would
think
she’d
cover
herself.
She
a
play
thing ----
soft
brown
clay.
How I am
asked
to pose
too,
she teaches
me,
at
the
edge
of
the world’s
eye,
every time.