Clysmica

Poem for a merrow of the Celtic Sea

Alive, languid roiling mass, 
cold as the ancients 
The red sun bows to kiss you, 
Muireann
White bone lips, soft as the days 
I first larked amongst the rockweed, swaying 
and smoother still for each wave, wanting 
upon your hidden place 
Sea glass green, diaphaneities refracting 
Level me into a woman who sees what others don't, 
washed clean by your ceaselessness 
beckoning in tandem
to unchained hunger

Uncompromising as your narrows 
and seeking as your loneliest gray reaches, 
only a black-eyed nereid could love