the sea grabbed bodies, theirs and mine flaming foaming tendrils
ahold of the drifting timber trying to keep gripping, hanging
holding high salt stripped throat shouting Unhand Me, Body-
You'll not have us tonight, but the sea made  belly sounds,
bleeding even the pilot, head slipping to the murk my blood
the envy, finally fell out inside and I sank to the floor with the timber and rope-the final moments of vision the setting horison the eye and perhaps an illusion; not-blak sails drifting steady my head vapor shroud eating the sun I fell into the lap of my love, my Mathilda- royalty to seakelp and fog looking on both irises jupiter and mars and thanking the stars furyos vixens above and she stood and she smiled not-blak sails- I admired her silver linen train but a din like desperate men shouting loosed me from my vision; they had seen the sails and all surrounding the lot tantalus's envy the pilot's hands raving Not today! Not today! They feared hotel raft a permanent lodging, jumping, frightened, killing themselves their poor salt-seasoned hearts drifting again more than them no signal observing the sails flurrying trumpets it might see us-it might, it might!

I'd like it if you
wrestled your fingertips under my ribcage and
pressed your palms
against my sides and felt,
conveyed across
the gauze of my skin,
my heartbeat racing in
my kidneys and
if you traced,
with two little toes,
four tendons
entwining my ankles and
if your eyelashes pretended to be
newborn jellyfish
toying with newfangled tentacles
across my bare shoulder blades and
if your tongue was a diving board
for lovely words plunging
into the ebbing oceanic air pockets
between us and
if your hands were seakelp,
leathery tendrils impossibly woven into my scalp,
a short tether
ensuring my submerged lips and nostrils
never shatter the glassy surface