Let’s toast with these stones, in this littoral cave.
Scrape clean our gory bones, let the ocean tongue glide over this.

Then we may lie down, and roll,
then we may light up, and pull.

Draw our own wunderkind from out our nethers, and fold her
into a triangle, to slip inside our pockets. Ah me.

Ah, can’t we, let the gull free, let her her own arms,
watch her summon wind, while we

row away into the blank flat,
that expanse, beyond what our sunken eyes can reach.

Ah me. We are still unloved. These qualms
attached to our feet, paler moons never thought of our loneliness;

but we, white backed dreamers, with bellies of obsidian,
our every thought is of the tidal wave.

I, cool bender, take the lash, toss, and blow.
We, long pretenders, rake our fingers in the cling, then let go.

Wonderful image provided by wallpapercave.com – Thank you.