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.