I park the car and let you see
My ocean of necessity
Made all of foam and briny waves
And the blood God craves.
We traipsed away to the saw-grass beach
—over the sea wall and through the breach—
And laid out towels of virgins' hair
And watched the sunset flair.
The seagulls wheeled and turned and cried.
Not once did you stir by my side.
Eventually, though, the dead moon rose
And I unleashed my torrent of prose:
I confessed and railed and did beseech you
While overhead, close icy thunderheads drew,
So that your frozen silence turned warm,
And overhead inward dream a storm
And as you drew me to your breast—
The lightening laid us to our rest.