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.