The Sea Pearl

   
   
The senses are spinning    
a gulf sea breeze comes in    
through the tight space    
of glass doors that reveal    
too much, but even if eyes    
should pry into the mirror    
that reflects the ecstasy    
of truth, fervently pushing    
to see even closer inside    
gazing curiously into the deep,    
listening to the loud crying    
of seagulls screeching high    
watching skin gripping    
skin, the pillars of innocence    
(the bedposts) collapsing    
into the eternal seas of sweat    
salt savagely licked    
by tongues swollen    
from drinking dew    
the fan spreading  
the scent of sex over me
and there, quietly lying,    
books a little girl devoured.