A baptism of the body is not enough.
I want to uncover all your secrets.
I pry open the horizon’s dark shell
to spill on your face the lunar light.
Arc of jaw, slender clavicle ridge. Lace slips
from slope of shoulder, confessing skin.
Virginal currents pool at your feet,
embroidered with undertow, hemmed in foam,
now periwinkle, now porcelain, all opalescent.
I cannot help but break into song.
Do not be startled by the devotion in my voice.
Ocean, when you raise the gold of your gaze,
do not turn away, concealing the evening pearl,
drawing the sea back up to your throat.
Read more from Issue No. 6 or share on Facebook and Twitter.