Ah but he loves her as the ocean
too deep to fathom, too cold to float,
tonight to drown. Some things
she's found like flotsam on the sand:
she likes to have him around
as a purpose surfing beside her in the waves
or the salt breeze that teases her hair
but does not stir the seagulls.
C likes to lie beside him on the sand
bright as a blue-bottle, trailing
her tender barbs to float beside him,
a vinegar glow as the sun sets.
All this he knows, but still she floats through
his dreams, light as the drifting moon
her naked face gilding the cresting surf.
Boy ant, bouyant with C on a heart-breaking
wave, remains cool, her froth, his waterlogged
words like kelp on the littoral
floating in on the tide of her salty smile.
Before the moon, the sun sinks
the sand remains, he's all at sea
but he loves her as the ocean.