Sea Air

It will be your sleeping face that stirs my passion,

still, I will temper what craves sleek, hidden away.

I anticipate our time of awakening

I would like feign this slumber a minute longer.

I would like to pretend at first, my eyelids, toppled

half moon crescents, your senses igniting your body conscious,

a torrent washes over us, laps at my toes,

overwhelms my still burrowed face.

I separate our swimming forms. Can a mere human hand

divide the return of the tide from the ocean into which it nestles?

You muttered unintelligible dreams last night, wrangled the sun

to singe my skin, and the moon of me, curved and moaned

and hastened her eight phases

—we do not sink into the whirlpool

forming between our love-welded bodies,

prising us apart to sample

and savor our dark desires depths

We summon the skies to our aid.

He cries and rumbles in response.

I cannot deny us the tight lipped

oyster, the obscure pregnant telltale

in her curved shell, the secretive pearl at her

core. I am fiendish as I hoard her, she, the one who

holds our fervent invocation, anting-anting

to ward the far world away, remain ashore. I will be sentinel.

The sirens call, their tails tunneling the way to fathom’s

cellar, I will hold you back from answering their call

—I am the lighthouse and you are the shipwreck,

my voice carries through the heavy, curtained night, diverts

you, you reach for me to touch the twin flames

upon the tips of my breast, anticipate the honed,

frantic entry into these harbors, your safety.

It is here at long last, you recognize home.

Phynne~Belle (Tricia De Jesus-Gutierrez) is a poet and part time sea siren on weekends. Especially during the month of February. You can learn more about her here.