Poetry

The tiny thrusts 
and a blunt fuel 
scrambled over the wet contours. 
There was an ephimerality 
in overdue kisses 
of death. 
 
The interplay of sex 
and spirituality starts, 
bites the bullet and pushes the boat. 
The pungency of an elegy 
was a secondhand divorce 
with death. 
 
Jealousy: sand was 
under the nails. Now 
I will find the remains of an ocean 
in your eyes. There was nothing 
else to be done than taking off 
the bikini top like a death.