Winter Storms

The tides, in stormy weather, break with threat
And fury, like your passionate demands,
Upon my very door stone; you forget,
When tides flow out and you are in command,
How low the cottages and I can seem in spills
Of ill-temper; yet, from your countenance,
I know you know I bend inwards like hills
That jut above the houses: tides advance,
But dark slopes lead to harbour, where each boat
Can ride together just as I ride you,
While sails dry in the sun; and we promote
Our sensuality: I find it's true
When we make love, the hamlet's very still:
Shut in by hate and love and sea and threat;
But all is eased, until you've had your fill
And hold me, avaricious in your debt.
Then, as you're sleeping off the weariness
Of lustful work, I rise and play so quiet
Amongst this tangle of remembered zest
And tang of past delights and the fine riot,
We made before we found this lonely spot;
Yet, life is here in all its varied forms
With sorrows, expectations and a lot
Of dreams that will survive these winter storms.